The Mind of A Slayer
by magicharm
Summary: End of S7. Buffy receives a letter from Dumbledore requesting her help. This is my take on what it could have been like if the Slayer had been in the Order of the Phoenix (her part in the book).
1. The Mind of A Slayer

A/N: If you think you've seen this story before, you're probably right. This was posted on Twisting the Hellmouth, and I abandoned the poor thing for about 5 months before coming back to it, but all my old fans were gone. So hopefuly, they've all migrated here and can continue reviewing my story :D

I've posted the previous 25 chapters, along with the new 26th chapter. Since I'm just posting old files, I'll do a disclaimer here and it goes for the rest of the story, capiche?

Disclaimer: Nothing, nothing, nothing sob belongs to me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to Joss Whedon and JK Rowling respectively.

* * *

I've been staring at the water stain on the ceiling for God knows how long. My mind feels numb, and for the past two weeks, I have not found my usual Slayer strength or effort to rise from this pathetic position that I'm in. My eyes feel like they have glazed over, but how can I tell? I haven't left this satin-clothed bed since...

I can remember it so clearly, the destruction of my home. Sunnydale. The Hellmouth. La Boca del Inferno. Whatever. The urge to roll my eyes arises, but a stubborn part of my brain pushes it down. The Scooby Gang trooped off to the City of Angels, leaving behind a crater in the earth – remnants of our lives for the past few years. The souled vampire that I knew _so well_ took us in with no hesitation, everyone settling in with the A.I. team perfectly. Except for me. Buffy, the resident Vampire Slayer whose life is so screwed up that she locked herself in a room, and is currently staring blankly at a wall.

Maybe I'm depressed. Scratch that, I _am_ depressed. And I know exactly when it started.

Dawnie's gone. My, literal, _flesh and blood_ was stolen from me. And despite years of protecting her from demons, vampires and hell-goddesses, even _dying_ for her, my own goddamned father comes along, after seven years of neglect, and steals her, claiming custodial rights. He walked into the Hyperion last week, a skank on his arm and slapped down a wad of legal papers, yelling at Dawnie to pack her stuff.

Of course I wouldn't give my sister up without a fight. Neither would the rest of the gang.

It didn't help that he had recruited Wolfram and Hart, of all lawyers, to defend him. And had the police to back him up, in case I turned 'violent, as she has before'.

I couldn't do anything as I watched my own father cart Dawn off to his apartment, and suddenly, as he slammed the doors shut behind him, everything became too much. I remember Angel's worried gaze on me and the nervous reassurances from the others on getting Dawn back as I slowly ascended the stairs to my room.

I didn't turn back. And I haven't left this stale room since.

So far, I've only let Angel in. I know that Willow and Xander will try their best to get me out of this rumpled bed. And I'm afraid that they'll succeed. It feels so easy, lying here, for once not being the one in charge, the decision-maker... the sacrifice.

I can sense Angel lingering outside the door; my skin still prickles when he's near, still throwing me off. I hear the doorknob turn slightly, but don't shift my gaze from the ceiling. He sits on the bed next to me and after a minute, I turn to him.

"Ready yet?"

I give a slight shake of my head. He asks me the same question every time he comes in. Doesn't he know that I'll never be ready? Never be okay without my sister next to me, knowing that she's safe? Of course he knows this, he's the vampire-with-a-soul, damned to relive his sins. Of course he knows every worst feeling in the world. Bitter thoughts whirl in my head, and I don't try to stop this resentful plunge.

Angel takes my hand, his cold fingers clasping mine. It registers faintly that my fingers are as cold as his. He lifts my hand to his lips and places a feather-soft kiss on it. He knows he can rouse me this way – we both still crave each other, the _innocence_ of my birthday. Both doomed to a star-crossed relationship. Another chapter in the book of Buffy Summers – Screwed Up Vampire Slayer.

I can feel a shudder forming at the base of my spine, and cold anger fills me as I try to suppress it, hide it from him. I hate the way he can do this to me. I hate how I still want him, after four years – still yearn for his touch. Angel pulls his cool lips away from my hand when I don't respond, letting it drop softly onto the bed again. I don't move my stare from the water stain.

He rises with one swift move, his trademark duster flowing behind him as he leaves the room silently. I wonder how long it'll be until he comes back to check on me again. I wonder if it's killing him, seeing me lie uselessly in this bed. And a tiny part of me hopes it is – torturing him to see his _beloved_ so devastated in his own hotel.

Time passed. I don't know how long it's been since Angel's left, but something is tapping loudly on one of the windows across the room. The curtains are drawn, dark, heavy drapes that cut off all light. I'm trying to ignore it, trying to continue just lying here. But the tapping's not stopping, and it's starting to annoy the hell out of me.

The Slayer part of me wants to jump up, crawl out of the worthless skin lying in the bed and rush over to the window. The other part just wants to lie there and waste away as the world continues to turn. But my Slayer's curiousity is peaking, and the other hopeless part is beginning to get pissed off.

I slowly rise from the bed, wincing slightly as my sore muscles are stretched. I swing my legs over the bed, feeling the cool timber under my feet and try to stand. Swaying slightly, I can feel the fighter inside me regain its bearings as I slowly walk over to the window that the tapping is coming from.

Drawing the curtains aside slightly, I squint in the bright light that floods my eyes.

Sunlight bad.

Once my eyes are open again, I peer out the window and see a chocolate-coloured owl perched on the ledge, inquisitive eyes gazing back at me. Pulling the windows open, the bird gives a hoot as it steps inside, and I notice a roll of paper tied securely to one of its legs. I looked at the bird. What the hell?

It gives another hoot and extends its leg out slightly. I've never encountered demon birds before, and my Slayer sense isn't tingling. So, cautiously, I pick the paper out from the twine tying it and roll it open. Elegant, flowing script greets me, reading:

Miss Elizabeth Summers 

_Hyperion Hotel_

_Third Guest Bedroom, Second Floor_

_25 Hyperion Street_

_Los Angeles, California_

_Dear Miss Summers,_

_It has come to my attention that you have successfully closed the Hellmouth that resided in Sunnydale, California. I offer my congratulations and best wishes to you and your friends on your victory._

_I also write to you to request your aid in defeating an evil that currently plagues the Wizarding world. You may not have heard about this 'realm' before, and more explanations can be given if you accept, and agree to come to England. _

_There is an order that has been valiantly trying to repress this evil and protect the boy who he seeks. The Order of the Phoenix needs as much support as it can attain during this time. Your reputation precedes you, and I have been well informed of your achievements while residing on the Hellmouth. _

_Please consider this urgent request, and send a reply back with Syrup, the owl that delivered this message. _

_Sincerely,_

Albus Dumbledore 

This is too weird.

Wizarding world? Order of the Phoenix? My _reputation_? I should feel suspicious, but somehow, it feels strangely _right_.

The owl is perched on one of the gracefully carved wooden chairs in the corner, apparently asleep. And how does this Dumbledore guy know so much about me anyway? Looks like a chat with Giles is calling.

Oh God.

I'll have to leave this damn room. Finally wake up and say, 'hi everyone! Did anything happen in the two weeks that I was feeling particularly depressed and worthless? No? That's great!'

Oh God.

I tentatively sit back down on the bed again, staring at the letter in my hand. What if all this was true? Would I leave everyone here? Leave the fact that Dawnie could come back? Just _leave_?

And the answer is what scares me. I already know what it is.

Oh God.


	2. The Decision

The aged railing creaks softly as I lay a hand on it to steady myself, venturing out of my room for the first time in two weeks. Voices trail up the staircase from below, the occasional giggle being heard. I don't have anything planned. I don't know what to do once I get down there.

Stepping down the first few steps, I can see flashes of brown hair from below. I try to continue creeping down the stairs, but cringe as they creak loudly, alerting the gang downstairs to my presence. The whole room falls silent and I shut my eyes for a brief moment and take a deep breath. I can feel their eyes on me.

"Hi," I say, offering a weak smile as I continue down the staircase.

Willow rushes over and embraces me tightly once I reach the bottom. I can feel tears well up in my eyes, but harshly force them back. I need to tell them. Now. Or I might never say it.

Xander joins the hug, and so does Giles. We stand there for a minute, reveling in each other until I reluctantly pull back.

"I have some news," I speak quietly, pointedly looking at Giles, "and I need some help."

Nodding, my ex-Watcher guides me to the sofa where both gangs have gathered around and I sit down on the plush seat. I notice that Angel and Wesley are missing. So is Faith. I watch nervously as everyone seats themselves, some of the A.I. gang shooting me discreet smiles that don't reach their eyes. I know they think I'm still mental. Maybe I am.

"I got a letter this morning," I start, shaking my head as Xander makes to interrupt me, "an owl delivered it to me. I heard it tapping on my window."

I look subtly at Giles, noticing that his face seemed to have paled several shades beneath his librarian glasses. I slip the letter out of my jeans pocket and unfold it, handing it to Giles. His hands shake as they take it.

"An owl? Don't you think that's a bit...weird?" one of the girls from Angel's team says tentatively. I think her name's Fred.

A few people nod their heads in agreement. I shrug my shoulders.

"I didn't get any wiggy vibes from it – the owl or the letter. So I think it's okay. Besides, Syrup is pretty cute, and sleeping upstairs," I say.

"Syrup?" Xander asks, raising an eyebrow.

"One of the owls that belongs to Hogwarts," Giles says, his voice trembling slightly.

I frown. He seems to know more than he's letting on.

"What's Hogwarts?" I ask, leaning back tiredly against the couch. Having lain in a bed for two weeks seems to have drained me more than I thought.

Giles removes his glasses and rubs the skin between his eyes, "It's a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. One of the best in the world. Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster of the school."

"How do you know this?" Willow beat me to the question.

He sighs heavily, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I used to attend Hogwarts, until my father shipped me off to the Watchers' Council just before my seventh, and last year. I haven't had contact with any one from there since I left."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask softly. Why did he keep this from me all this time? We could have had so many more allies if we had contacted them...

"I left that world a long time ago, Buffy. Their issues do not concern us, neither does ours to them. I am greatly surprised that Dumbledore has written to you, let alone knowing about your work as the Slayer," he replies. I could hear the sadness tinting his voice.

By this time, the letter had circulated through the circle of people. Xander and Willow face me with sad eyes. I think they know what I'm going to say. The rest don't though. Their gazes are a blend of confusion and questioning.

"Do you trust these people, Giles?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.

He turns his eyes to me. They are filled with the same sadness that I see in Xander and Willow's. I can tell that he's reluctant to give me an answer. _Just say it, just say it..._

Giles gives me a small nod and I slowly sit up from the couch. I clasp my fingers together and gaze intently at the intertwining pattern of skin. Still looking at my hands, I tell the group, "I'm going."

Giles doesn't say anything. Neither does Willow. Xander, though he already knew it was coming, tries to dissuade me. The A.I. team are hesitant, not sure whether to agree or not. Their loyalty lies with Angel, I know, and my leaving doesn't affect them.

I turn to Xander and cover his hands, looking into his unpatched eye, speaking loudly enough that everyone else can hear, "I'm not needed here. Dawnie's gone. Faith can manage well enough. Angel's team is prepared. You don't need me to be here."

Xander falls silent.

"The fight might not need you, but your friends do," Willow says with a trembling voice, her head turned away from me.

I walk over to her end of the sofa and kneel in front of her. Grasping her in a huge hug, I can feel her tears wetting my t-shirt.

"I worried so much about you! You just woke up and now you're leaving!" she cries.

"Wills, I have to. These people need my help and that's what I'm here for. The Slay-Gal, remember? Sent to protect the world. This world needs my help," I speak softly to her.

She gives a tiny nod, drawing her head away from my shoulder and looking at me, her face tear-streaked. I know she understands. _She has to._

I stand slowly and face Giles again.

"I'll write my reply to Dumbledore. If anyone wants me, I'll be packing in my room," I say, turning away and heading back to the staircase.

Just as I make to ascend, I turn back and see a group of shocked and saddened people behind me. Funny how life works. Five minutes was all it took to change an atmosphere so dramatically. I hesitate before saying, "When Angel comes back, can you send him up?"

I see Cordelia nod her brunette head just before I turn back and walk up the stairs.

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_I accept your request to assist the Order of the Phoenix. _

_Please send me the details on how I'll get to wherever you need me to be._

_Sincerely,_

Buffy Summers 

With that, I roll up the small piece of paper and tie it to Syrup's leg. Opening the window, the owl gives me a grateful peck for the food and water I provided it with before flying off.

I sit down on the bed with a sigh.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I'm going to the land of Giles. Where tweed and tea rule the land.

A small chuckle escapes and I stand up to pack what I have left from the demolishment of Sunnydale.


	3. Grimmauld Place

God, will whatever is making that goddamned annoying sound just _shut up_?!

Moaning, I can feel my eyes glued shut. So tired...I spent half the night rummaging through the closet trying to find misplaced items that Willow had told me they had bought while I was in my 'coma'. Of course, this meant clothes. But what I hadn't counted on was that they had actually _borrowed_ the stuff they bought me. Huh.

Rolling over, I can faintly recognize that irritating tapping noise. I stumble out of the plush bed, over to the window that Syrup had stepped in through yesterday. Once again, he is sitting patiently out there, his curious eyes watching me as I rip the curtains open and glare at him.

Does the stupid bird have to come so early?

I throw the window open, feeling my Slayer strength gradually return as it nearly swings off its hinge. Syrup gives a startled hoot, fluttering in the air for a moment before swooping inside the musty bedroom. It perches itself on the wooden chair again, and I see the reply that I've been expecting attached to his leg. After I take it, he gives another hoot and flies back out the window.

Miss Elizabeth Summers 

_Hyperion Hotel_

_Third Guest Bedroom, Second Floor_

_25 Hyperion Street_

_Los Angeles, California_

_Dear Miss Summers,_

_Thank you for your acceptance. _

_There will be a Wizard cab awaiting you outside the Hyperion Hotel at 2:00 p.m. this afternoon. The driver will be taking you to the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters in London. The building is enchanted, and no one except the Order's members know the actual address. It cannot be located on any map, either. The cab driver has been instructed to take you to Grimmauld Place. The number that you must look for is Number 12._

_This is where you will be staying indefinitely. Details such as money, clothes, food and assignments will be discussed on your arrival. Please feel free to pack what you require._

_I must also warn you that this letter has been charmed to burn itself, as it has the address of the Order._

_Yours sincerely,_

Albus Dumbledore 

Despite the warning, I jump slightly when the paper suddenly combusts, floating in the air and burning to ashes, the orange flames dissipating once the paper was gone.

Sighing, I dust my hands and walk around the bedroom, drawing the rest of the dark drapes open, allowing some sunlight to filter through the dusty glass. So this was one of those 'top-secret-even-your-friends-or-sister-can't-know-where-you-are' missions. I hate these.

Briefly glancing at the clock, I give a little yelp when I realise exactly how late I slept in. Rushing around the room, I collect the rest of the items that I hadn't stowed in my suitcase the night before from various tables. I pause in my rush, though, when the door swings open, revealing a worn-looking Angel.

He didn't come in last night, and I can only assume that he, Wesley and Faith had had a rough slaying night. I let my eyes flick over his face momentarily, and I know that someone had informed him of my leaving. In less than a second, I could tell from the creases in his eyes and mouth that he didn't want me going.

I turn back to drag my suitcase away from the bed. Suddenly his hand's there, lifting it effortlessly from me and tilting my chin up.

Even after this long, I can still feel his pain so palpably. It's radiating in waves from him, hitting me and making me rock on my feet, almost in regret.

"Why are you going?" he asks, after what seems an eternity of gazing into hurting eyes.

I sigh and look away. He knows. He just wants to hear me say it.

"I don't belong here, Angel," I say, each word revealing a part of me that I hadn't shown anyone, not even Spike, before, "everything seemed wrong when I came back. I didn't fit. I still don't. Maybe if I can help these people, it'll help me figure out what's wrong."

I don't know why I'm even telling him this. I thought that I'd dealt with my _wrongness_ back when I was resurrected. Apparently not.

He doesn't say anything. We stand there, each deep in thought, until he bends down to kiss my forehead.

And without a word, he's gone.

A tear slips, unbidden, out of my eye. Annoyed, I roughly brush my hand across my cheek and pick up my suitcase. I don't look back as I walk out of the room.

"Buffy! The cabby's outside!" Cordelia yells from the foyer.

Quickly, I race through the hallways, desperate find everyone and say goodbye. Except Angel. I know he's gone, we had already said our goodbye.

I find Giles and Xander, and hug them tightly, promising to write. Willow rushes into the room just as I turn around to leave and barrels into me. I can still feel her insecurity of me leaving. It wasn't just the fact that I'd just woken up. I know she's afraid that no one will be able to stop her if she returns to the black magic.

"Don't worry, Wills," I whispered to her. I couldn't find any other words to say.

She nods in understanding, hugging me tightly again, but not saying anything either. I reluctantly let go and make my way to the front, where my lone suitcase stands. They don't follow me. I didn't want them to.

Cordelia has _kindly_ kept the door open for me, and I see a bright yellow taxi waiting outside. I give her a quick hug, just for the thought, and walk outside into the sunlight. Its warmth spreads through me, but there's a hollow in my chest that remains cold. It's a feeling that I've grown accustomed to – Mum's death, jumping off the tower, coming back, Dawnie leaving...

I open the cab door and put my suitcase in before following. The driver looks friendly enough. Greying hair, glasses, his name card on the dashboard reads Thomas Ruddy. As I shift in the seat and close the door, he speaks.

"Miss Summers, is it?" I can't help but notice how he sounds like Giles...

"Yes, that's me," I reply, resisting the urge to gaze back at the Hyperion, although I heard Cordelia shut the large doors behind me.

"Well, we're off to Grimmauld Place. I assume you know where to go. I was jus' told to drop you off at the corner," the driver says, starting the engine and pushing a few coloured buttons.

"Yeah, I know the address," I say back, more interested in the numerous buttons.

The cabby notices my curiousity and smiles, "I'm only here for the show. These taxis can actually apparate themselves. I'm jus' 'ere to show them Muggles."

Muggles? Apparate? What...?

But before I can say anything, I hear a loud pop and suddenly, we're not on Hyperion Street anymore, but apparently, Grimmauld Place, London. The street was lined with grubby houses. Some of which had broken windows, rubbish-filled lawns and peeling paint covering the walls. Wrinkling my nose, I wonder why such an important Order would hold their meetings in such a street.

"Here yer are, Miss," Thomas the cabby said, turning around with a smile.

I nod my head in thanks, grab my suitcase and leave the taxi. Just as I step out, I wonder about paying him, but before I even turn around, I hear a loud pop, and the taxi is gone.

Shaking my head, I wander down the street, looking for Number 12. Blackened windows cover the houses and it's hard to see anything through them. Passing the streetlamps, I count the numbers on the pavement that indicated the house numbers. Some of the homes don't have them. 9...10...11...13...

Wait a second.

Where's 12?

I'm standing in front of a battered fence that looks like it's about to collapse. It's a weak divider between house number 11 and 13. Hell, you'd think someone would have told me how to get to the freaking Headquarters of an all-important place.

Irritant, I think back to the letter that Albus Dumbledore sent me. Just as I remember the part about the address and its secrecy, a shabby door suddenly appears in front of me. This continues to expand until a house is squeezed in between what used to be a fence dividing two other houses. Like the others, this place is just as dilapidated.

I look at number 11 and 13. Didn't anyone feel anything?

I shrug and walk up the stone steps that had materialized. After being a Slayer for seven years, you'd think that I'd be used to this kind of thing happening. The front door has peeling black paint, with a steel serpent for a doorknocker.

Looking behind me to check that no one was watching, I rap on the old door loudly. Suddenly, I can hear a faint wailing and screeching coming from inside. I wince as the door is thrown open and the shrieking triples in volume. Standing there is one pissed off lady that I think could pass off as Willow's mum.


	4. Kicking Ass

"You must be Buffy," the vibrant redheaded lady says with a forced smile. I notice that she's trying hard not to scream back at whatever is making that god-awful wailing inside.

"That's me," I reply, having to speak louder than usual over the deafening screams.

The lady waves me inside and I cringe as the shrieking continues. It's even louder in here than on those stone steps. I gaze around. Drapes even darker than Angel's cover the walls and windows, and even though it's day, traditional gas lamps that hang by the walls are needed to light the hall that we are standing in. There is a dank, musty smell that reminds me of some abandoned buildings I have patrolled before, where death seems to be a common sensation.

Suddenly the piercing shrieks stop, and I hear the redheaded woman standing beside me heave a sigh of relief. In the yellow light of the flames, I can see that she is plump woman who looks like a natural mother. A streak of sadness whips through me as memories of my own mother arise. I shake my head. Quiet echoes through the place and she softly introduces herself.

"I'm Molly Weasley, dear. Nice to meet you," she says as she walks, guiding me through the hallway and down a corridor where I can see a door.

Still clutching my suitcase, I can't help but notice the _odd_ assortment of furniture in the house. I walk past several statues of gargoyles and a wall lined with plaques of withered heads and dust-coated portraits. This place reeks of darkness. God, I hope Giles was right about these people.

"The meeting's just about to start," Molly says in an undertone, ushering me through the door, "and mind that you keep your voice down while you're here. We don't want to wake _her_ again."

_Her_? She must be talking about that screaming. I open my mouth to ask more when I find that I've walked into a fairly bright-lit room, where there is a long and large table with people seated, apparently awaiting my arrival. It reminds me of the dining room where I battled Dracula. Warily, I watch as Molly seats herself in a chair. I carefully and quickly gaze around the room – tall, grimy bookshelves line the walls, filled with thick, worn books. One of the shelves has an array of trinkets that I can't detail from where I'm standing.

"Miss Summers," a voice says, breaking my gaze.

My eyes flick to the table. At the end, there is an old and serene looking man with a flowing white beard. Adorning his head is a pointy hat that tilts slightly. He was really being serious about the whole wizard thing, huh?

"Yup, that's me," I reply. How many times have I said that already?

"Welcome," the old man continues, "to the Order of the Phoenix."

For the first time, I allow myself to let my eyes wander over the people seated at the table, all looking curiously at me. I immediately spot a young woman with bubblegum-pink hair. I hide a smile. Mental note: talk to her later. Another person catches my eye, but for a totally opposite reason. This man emanates darkness and I frown slightly. Catching my gaze, he sneers at me, his greasy hair moving slightly.  
  
I look away from him. Two or three years back, I might've sauntered over there, playing dumb and kicked his ass. But that was a long time ago. Too long.

Suddenly I find the old man with the pointy hat at my side.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I shake his hand out of politeness. So this is the famous Albus Dumbledore. I'm shocked to feel the power behind his grasp. Looks aren't everything, as many have learnt from me.

"Pleased to meet you too, sir," I say back.

He gives a small chuckle and gestures to a seat near his end of the table and I take it. It's relatively close to him, and I find myself sitting between two men. Both look sinister – one of them being the lanky-haired man who had glared at me earlier, and the other, when he turns to face me, has a freaky eye that constantly spins in his socket. Both have frowns glued to their faces.

"I'm afraid that I have not made any introductions," Dumbledore says after sitting back down, "no one except I, know who you are, Miss Summers."

I reluctantly hold back a glare. Did he have to be so damn public about my _job_?

He turns back to the table and speaks clearly.

"It is a great blessing that Miss Summers is here, on our side, today. I requested for her to join the Order, and she has travelled from California in the United States. I will not hesitate in telling you not to underestimate her powers."

Dumbledore subtly turned sparkling eyes to me. He's enjoying this way too much.

"Miss Summers is the Slayer."

I know what is coming. Everyone's going to gasp and look in wonder. I'm going to blush, crawl under the table and die and...

Wait.

Silence fills the room and I can tell that I'm not the only one who is confused. Apparently, it seems that these people haven't _heard_ of a Slayer. I breathe a mental sigh of relief.

"Most of you have not heard of the Slayer," Dumbledore says, voicing my thoughts.

I politely clear my throat.

He gives me an inquisitive look and I hesitantly intervene, "Um, it's not just _the_ Slayer any more. There are actually over 200 now. Well, potentials, anyway."

Dumbledore nods in correction and continues, "As you can see, I am not entirely well-versed in the history or current situations of the Slayers, so I am going to allow Miss Summers to introduce herself and inform us about her _occupation_."

I stare at him blankly. What the...?

Once again, his eyes are humming with an amused look and I curse myself for even speaking.

I can feel everyone's stares. Damn, I knew I should've taken those public speaking courses...

"Um, well...uh, my name's Buffy Summers," I stutter as I stand up from my chair. God, swallow me now...

The scowling man beside me gives a derisive snort. Annoyance starts to bubble through me as I continue.

"I was the Slayer, who was, I guess you could say, 'looking after' Sunnydale, residence of the Hellmouth in California. It's a tiny town on the map and you wouldn't even notice it until something jumped out and bit you on the neck."

I shoot Dumbledore a smirk. He merely chuckles again.

"The Slayer," I continue, feeling more confident each time, "is one girl in all the world, destined to fight the forces of evil, blah blah blah. My life story is actually quite complicated, and –"

I'm cut off by another snort from the man beside me. Arming myself with a deadly glare, I turn to him.

"Do you have a _problem_?"

A sneer lifts the corners of his mouth. I can feel the atmosphere in the room tense up. Seems like everyone's looking for some action. Screw not kicking ass, I think it's time to set the record straight...

"Yes I do," he bites out, "although I trust the judgment of Albus, I must say that he's hit way off the mark to bring back a tiny girl like you to help us."

I can feel a smirk tugging. He's going to bite hook, line and sinker.

"Well, if it's okay with you, Mr. Dumbledore," I say, sparing him a glance, "I'd like to take up the challenge."

The sparkle in his eye seems to diminish slightly. I nod in reassurance. I won't hurt this prick...too badly, anyway.

"Arm yourself with whatever you need," I throw over my shoulder as I leave my seat.

I can feel the arrogance rolling off him in waves. I can feel _my_ power just fizzing under the surface. To my great reluctance, I remind myself to hold back. It won't do to pulverize one of my associates...as much as I would enjoy wiping that sneer off his face.

I see Dumbledore reassuring the other members of the Order, warning them to leave their seats and watch from the walls. With a smirk, I wonder whose safety he's warning them about. Just as I'm about to stretch, my Slayer sense tingles strongly, and I narrowly dive to the floor, sliding across before pushing myself into a handstand to avoid the stab of red light that scowl-faced git just threw at me.

I narrow my eyes. I hate cheaters. Flipping up, I land back on my feet, jumping to the side to miss a shot of green and run towards him. And is that a wand?

Reaching him, I can see his thin lips muttering curses under his breath, and I spring up onto a chair and vault myself onto the table to avoid another spell. With my height advantage, I quickly remind myself to restrain my strength as I do a spin and kick the wand from his hand, watching it fly into a corner.

I look back and see his eyes widen. I shoot him a smirk as I grab the front of what looks like _robes_ and easily hoist him into the air so that he's eye level with me.

"Didn't you hear what Dumbledore said?" I ask, my voice dripping with fake sweetness, "_Never_ underestimate my power."

With that, I drop him to the ground where he lies sprawled in a heap. And just to be a show-off, I jump onto a chair, balancing on the seat's edge before doing a flip in the air as I catapult myself forward. Landing gracefully, I notice, out of the corner of my eye, lanky-haired inching towards his wand. I stride forward and step warningly on his wrist.

Looking up with a big smile to the stunned group, I say, "Any questions?"


	5. 730

The group looks at me, dumbfounded, and I give a little giggle. It's been a long time since I've been the centre of attention. Well, if you don't count the battle with Glory, me jumping off the stupid bridge, dying, being resurrected, battling the First...

Dumbledore clears his throat, and my attention snaps back. Realising that I'm still standing on greasy-git's wrist, I shoot him a wild smirk and release my foot. His scowl is permanently etched onto his face and I amble around the room, fixing up a few chairs that toppled during our 'fight'.

"As you can see, Miss Summers is _well_ qualified for the position," Dumbledore says to the group, eyes sparkling brightly.

There's an odd, but familiar sensation prickling up my back. _Demon_! My senses scream. But it's mixed...and _very familiar_...

As Dumbledore continues to speak to the group, ushering them back to their seats, trying to divert their stares from me, I surreptitiously glance around, pretending to pick up a few broken bits of wood from the stone floor. I can feel the hairs on my neck bristle even more as I near a man wearing robes similar to Dumbledore's, but _way_ shabbier. He's standing in a dark corner, listening to the head-guy speak.

I narrow my eyes slightly as I bend to pick up a splinter of wood from the ground near his foot. There's a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach that I haven't felt since...

"Werewolf?" I ask, feigning friendliness as I stand back up, a glare on my face. Ever since that bitch Veruca made with the claws and Oz, my favouritism hasn't been lying with werewolves.

His head whips around, a nervous and shocked look marring his face. His look is sincere, and I feel almost guilty. Almost. I wonder if Dumbledore knows...

"Ah, Miss Summers," Dumbledore calls from the front of the room. _I knew it..._

"I see you have met Remus Lupin," he continues, ignoring the gazes of the people around him.

"Yes, I have, sir," I replied, "Just wondering if you knew..."

"That he was a werewolf?" Dumbledore interrupts me.

I nod. No point in beating round the bush. I keep a close eye on Remus shifting uneasily beside me.

"Of course," the old man replies simply.

That doesn't come as a surprise. The guy has such a melancholy look on his face, maybe he won't turn out so bad. Not that all werewolves are bad...I mean Oz was all nice and stuff, besides the stoicism and...am I babbling inside my head?

Cutting off my inane mind-babble, I nod and say, "Cool with me."

I turn around to face the man, sticking my hand out, "I'm Buffy Summers, nice to meet you."

Remus has a slightly shocked look on his face, and he looks at my hand, unsure whether to touch it or not. What? Do I have cooties or something? Hesitantly, he grips my hand, giving it shake.

"Remus Lupin," he murmurs, and I think I sense a tone of awe hidden in there somewhere.

"Don't worry," I assure him, "my best friend's ex used to be a werewolf. He's off in Tibet or something being all monk-y."

"Being a monkey?" he asks, confused.

I laugh loudly. My voice rings in the stone room and I blush, as everyone's attention is focused on my face once again.

"No, no, he's learning to control his inner-wolf by _being_ with monks," I explain to Remus, my cheeks hot.

He makes a soft sound of understanding before his attention is once again caught by Dumbledore beginning to speak about some plan. I notice that on the side, he looks quite handsome, if it weren't for the dark shadows that linger on his face. And he's looking slightly worse for wear in his worn clothes.

The way he holds himself seems so familiar...an image of the mirror in the room I stayed in at Angel's flashes through my head. I realise that Remus' look of desolation was one that I shared only two days ago.

"Miss Summers, if you would like to take a seat?" Dumbledore calls out.

As I walk back to my seat, plonking myself down beside scowl-face, my thoughts are distracted. It seemed an age ago when I was lying in such desperation, staring at the water-stain on the Hyperion's ceiling. And now? I'm Little Miss Slayer again. Working with the Big Boys again.

The old man's eyes shift slightly to me before continuing with what he was saying. I absently notice that Remus has moved from the dark corner to take a seat next to another shadowy figure.

"Our priorities now," Dumbledore says, his voice taking a very serious tone, "are to protect Harry from Voldemort, and to capture as many Death Eaters as possible to obtain information on Voldemort's progress."

Harry must be the boy that Dumbledore was talking about in the letter. And what's a Death Eater? Obviously a baddie...but a demon? _Little Miss Muffet, counting down from 7-3-0_...Pay attention! God, where did that sentence come from? It's nagging at the back of my head...I've heard it somewhere! Argh, I hate déjà vu!

"...Silvica, Snape, Summers, Tonks," Dumbledore recited. It took a moment for the thought to sink in.

"WHAT?!" the man beside me yelled at the same time. No _way_ should my name be associated with his! Damn, I should've listened to what the old guy was saying.

"I've explained before," Dumbledore said, a glimmer in his eyes, "all the names are in alphabetical order, and there is no change to occur."

I could hear Snape (so that's his name, poor guy) grumbling as he shot continuous glares to Dumbledore.

"Stay in your groups, and there will be a roster in here later tonight detailing your patrol times. Obviously, some of your members may be missing during their working hours, but these have all been taken into consideration."

Dumbledore claps his hands, a smile on his face.

"Now, Molly, I would love to try some of your butter biscuits," he gestures, and everyone takes this as a sign that the meeting's over.

I hold back for a moment as everyone moves to leave, filing out and talking softly. I don't really take notice of anyone in particular, dark-robed figures brushing amiably past. I walk over to Dumbledore, who, strangely enough, seems to be waiting for me too.

"I take it that you weren't really listening, Miss Summers," he says, a smile lifting his mouth.

I have the decency to blush.

"Sorry, sir, I wasn't," I mumble back.

"I was explaining about our espionage teams," Dumbledore said, "you will be assigned a location with your group, and hopefully locate other spies and Death Eaters that have been assisting Voldemort in his rise."

I nod slowly. This wasn't really making sense. He had said in the letter that it was going to be explained, but I have no clue about what he's talking about.

"I'm sorry, Mr Dumbledore," I apologise, "but I don't really know who or what you're talking about. I know there's a big bad that needs his butt kicked, but besides that..."

His eyes take on a look of contemplation.

"There is someone I would like you to meet," he says, ushering me out of the room.

Okay, talk about avoiding the subject...

I find myself out in the hall again, several people still lingering about, talking in undertones. More than half of them have left. I follow Dumbledore, who stops next to Remus and a man that looks so much like Angel, I gasp.


	6. Meeting Joe Black

Isn't it amazing what some deities do to get a laugh out of your life? I mean, here I am, standing next to a wizened old man, who is peering charmingly at someone who looks like he could be Angel's twin. He even has the whole _broody_ look. I even concentrate strongly to suss out if he's a vamp. When no tingly feeling arises (I think I've already adjusted to the wiggy vibes from this house), I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Those stubborn Powers-That-Be _would_ send me to someone who looks like my former lover.

I must be staring, because no one utters a word. The silence suddenly sinks in but I can't take my eyes off him. Like L.A.'s cursed vampire, this guy seems to have waves of suffering rolling off him, and in those similar chocolate eyes, I can see immense pain; this guy has seen as much as I have.

"Miss Summers, this is Remus Lupin, who I believe you have already met," Dumbledore says, inclining his head slightly towards the werewolf, "and this is Sirius Black."

A year of being Sunnydale High's student counsellor _has_ actually left me with some skills, despite what the Scoobies thought. I must be tilting my head back slightly, as I do when I concentrate my gaze on someone (Dawnie calls it intimidation), because Sirius seems to shift slightly.

He, obviously, is much taller than I am, and has a ruffled head of mid-length black hair. His face is shadowed, which is an immediate telltale sign that his life ain't sunshine-and-roses. His shoulders are slightly hunched, and he wears clothes fitting to his name: black shirt, pants and shoes. Sirius reminds me so much of Angel when he first met me in that alleyway.

_Who are you?_

_Let's just say...I'm a friend._

_Yeah, well, maybe I don't want a friend._

_I didn't say I was yours._

I blink when I see Sirius' hand extended out in front of me. His face starts to take on a slightly hurt look when I glance confusingly up at him. Realising that spacing out tends to distort time a bit, I hastily grab his hand, and catch a glimmer of the shocked look that flits across his shadowed face when I squeeze his hand rather tightly without thinking.

"Sirius, if you would escort Miss Summers to her room," Dumbledore suggests before turning to me. Sirius nods, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him furtively massage his hand.

The old wizard says, "Miss Summers, make yourself comfortable. I need not warn you about wandering too far around the Black residence, especially when you are on unfamiliar territory. But if Sirius wouldn't mind giving you a tour, I'm sure that you will find something to pass the time."

Sirius nods. I can feel the wave of tiredness that I've been resisting start to ebb at the edge of my mind and I sigh. This attracts the attention of all three men, and I give a weary grin. Dumbledore chuckles quietly before he and Remus turn to speak with other wizards crowded near a fireplace.

When I turn back around, I notice that Sirius has already left and is walking towards the trailing staircase that I saw when I first came in. I'm assuming that his coldness is a result of nerves, so I follow behind at a slower pace, taking in the surroundings that I failed to at the start.

To put it mildly, the house is _dark_. It looks dark, it feels dark, and it even _smells_ dark. Shady drapes cover the walls, and gruesome pictures, statues and portraits hang along the corridors. Despite the quiet murmurs that fill the house, my footsteps still echo loudly from the tapping of my boots against tile. I can feel my Slayer sense tingle, and know that this house has some bad mojo in it.

To my shock, and some horror, the portraits move. I crash to a halt when I notice one of the pompous but gloomy looking ladies in a painting pace around her frame.

"Uh...Sirius?" I call softly. I see him pause in his strides and turn around at my voice.

"Is it..._normal_ for the paintings to move?"

Suddenly he's right next to me, and I mentally bash myself for not noticing how stealthily he moves. God, he's even more like Angel than I thought. This is further confirmed when I hear the velvety tone of his voice.

"Yes, the portraits are done with wizarding paint, which enchants them to move and speak," he explains in an undertone, "they're almost replicas of the real people, but they can never replace their subject's emotions."

I nod, and notice the lady in the portrait eyeing us rather evilly. Turning away, this time, Sirius slows down and walks unhurriedly with me up the staircase. I trail my hands along the marble banister, and try in vain to hide a small grimace.

Ever since mum died, I became quite the cleanliness freak. Willow told me, in one of our deep-and-meaningfuls after we destroyed the First, that she used to wonder how I could manage dealing with Dawn, mum's death, Glory, my job, the house and the plans for the funeral without breaking down.

Technically, I did. Break down, that is. To the point where death seemed the greatest option. Everyone expects a mental breakdown to be horribly public, with loud bawling and thrashing about while the medics rush in and drive off to an asylum. Mine was like that. Except inside. And until now, there's a gruesome sort of pride inside me that revels at the fact that I could keep something so emotionally wrecking from so many people.

Sirius must have caught my frown, because his voice turns slightly bitter when he says, "It's been a while since I've cleaned anything. The house is so big, and there've been...issues lately."

I want to say that I'm not criticizing anything, when a small detail catches my mind, "Is this your house?"

The connection hadn't clicked until now. Sirius Black. Black residence.

He replies yes, a slightly resentful smile twisting his mouth, marring his face. The urge to walk over and smooth the sour lines away (as I often did to Angel and Xander) rises forcefully through me, but I quell the impulse.

Sirius doesn't expand any further, but continues up the staircase. I draw my dusty hand away from the banister, dusting it on my pants as I continue up.

There's something behind this shadowy man. His demeanor intrigues me, though he has so many similarities to Angel, I wonder why there's still a part of my mind that is suspicious. Maybe it's the house that's having such a depressing effect on him, he looks like he hasn't seen sunshine in years. That's probably why he reminds me so much of Angel. Angel can't see the sunlight. _Ever_.

Sirius pauses shortly and twists his head around to check on me. I catch the deep pools of brown that are his eyes, filled with a torment that I've grown so accustomed to from living on the Hellmouth. I would never wish any human the punishment of living in demon-Sunnydale. The staircase continues to wind higher, and an overwhelming sense of pity fills me. When he turns back around, I make a decision to find out exactly what haunts Sirius Black.

I smile deviously. He'll be my little pet project.


	7. Score One

At the top of the staircase, there is a dim landing with rows of deep wooden doors that skirt along the wall on both sides. A tiny shiver creeps up my back when I see the light from hanging lamps reflect off brassy doorknobs shaped like snakes. It reminds me how menacing this whole house is again.

My hearing picks up a soft thud coming from a room on the right, but Sirius doesn't seem to notice it, and leads me to the left.

"'Mione!"

I glance back suspiciously. This place calls for some serious Scooby-searchin'. Second note to self: Scope out everyone who lives in this place, and try to remember _first_ note to self.

Sirius stops in front of a door, and I quickly look back, trying to remember which of the doors my room is. Satisfied with what I can remember, I turn back to find Sirius' shadowy figure looking curiously at me.

"You can see that well in this darkness?" he asks in his low voice.

"Comes from patrolling cemeteries every night," I shrug, "Oh, and it's part of the Slayer package too. Y'know, super-sight, and all that."

He gives a small nod of understanding, even with the thrown-in slang, and twists a serpent-headed doorknob, pushing the door open for me.

Ah, the gentleman.

Score one, Sirius, I gleefully think in my mind. But my thoughts are cut short when I glimpse the expanse of my room.

Despite the duskiness made by ceiling-high, heavy drapes that line equally large windows, I can still see the enormity of the room, and don't bother holding back a gasp as I enter. There is a _large_ double poster-bed at the side, with a grand, rich-looking wooden desk near the curtains. There is also an upright wardrobe in the corner, next to another wooden door.

A small chandelier hangs in the middle of the room, and the ceiling is very high, making the room seem even larger, I think.

I rush in and immediately draw back the curtains, allowing some beautiful rays of pink and orange sunset light to stream into the room. Unfortunately it highlights layers of dust that coat the furniture, but I turn a blind eye as I scan the room in the new light. I notice that my battered suitcase has somehow found its way here.

"I hope that you like it," Sirius says, and I can see that he trying hard not to squint, even in the meager shades of light.

"It's wonderful," I reply, taking in the still portraits that hang from the wall.

"How come these paintings don't move?" I ask him.

Sirius looks almost out of place, now, in the brighter room. He stands in a corner, where only the faintest hint of colourful sunlight touches the plush carpet near his feet. Even more so now, he reminds me of Angel. Shying away from sunlight. Unexpectedly, an overwhelming feeling floods through me.

"These weren't done with wizard-paint. It was for privacy in the bedroom," he replies, and seems slightly uncomfortable.

I try to ease the tension a bit.

"Where does that door lead to?" I gesture to the wooden door next to the wardrobe.

"This room's an ensuite, so that's your bathroom," Sirius answers.

I shoot him a grin. Smart men always give women their own bathrooms. He looks perturbed at my sudden smile, but I head towards the door and pull it open. It leads to a small bathroom with pale blue tiles; a sink is in the corner, with a small vanity table as well. On the other side is a shower and toilet.

"I hope it's big enough. If it's not, you can move to the room down..." Sirius says, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

I cut him off by laying a hand gently on his arm. His want to please almost makes me giggle, "It's perfect, Sirius."

He gives me a small, relieved smile and heads out.

"Oh, Dumbledore said to inform you that there is a training room for you at the back of the kitchen. He said you were free to use it at any time."

I frown slightly. I didn't bring any of my training gear, except a couple of stakes, holy water and a few other weapons I managed to squash inside my suitcase. I might just have to improvise.

"Sirius," I ask before he turns to leave, "would you mind accompanying me in my first training session? I might need a hand."

He hesitates before giving a small nod.

"Great. Could you meet me here about an hour after dinner tonight?"

He nods again before leaving.

I sigh as I turn around slowly, stopping for a moment just to gather my thoughts. The day has passed in a whirl and I leisurely recap what happened since this morning as I unpack my suitcase in the last few remaining rays of twilight.


	8. The Art of Fire

I'm lying here now, spread out on the plush bed that feels achingly like mum's. It's soft like her arms, but smells like darkness, cold and unfeeling...God it still hurts to think about how I found her. Limp, eyes blank, like she had been shot. Only it was worse. Cancer was something that I couldn't stop. And it still kills me to know that despite being a warrior for the Light, a _Champion _of the human race, I couldn't even save my own mother.

My finger catches a loose tendril of hair that's been flung out from my ponytail. Curling it around my finger, I remember one of my few memories of Heaven. That eternal place that I got ripped out of to save the world. Again. Dawn was lying in mum's bed with the Buffybot. And I remember feeling an immense sadness, even in Heaven, right before the incredible pain shot through me, yanking me back to the Hellmouth.

You're alive, and you're home. You're home...Welcome home, Buffy. 

My head's swirling as I think of Xander and Dawn's words when I returned. Unfortunately, Sunnydale was not feeling particularly home-like at the time. Not compared to Heaven. But I knew as I was scrambling out of the dusty soil covering my grave, something was wrong. There is something missing.

I hear knocks at the door, and I scramble to my feet, hurriedly flattening messy hair and rumpled clothing. I pull the door open to find a smiling Mrs. Weasley on the other side.

"Dear, there's some dinner ready if you're not too tired," she says kindly, but surreptitiously eyeing my figure.

Being holed up in Angel's room after Dawn's departure has taken a heavy toll on me, I know, but I'm more worried about keeping my Slaying skills up, rather than my size. I felt the growing rustiness on my reflexes and muscles during that show with Snape earlier, and if Dumbledore expects me to help him, I'd better get training soon.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I was planning on squeezing in a training session later, and I don't eat much before a workout," I explain.

The redheaded woman looks like she's about to lecture me, but thinks better of it and merely nods. I breathe an inward sigh of relief as I say a quick goodbye and shut the door. I walk over to the wardrobe, proudly looking at my organisation of meager items. Pants, shirts and other clothing lie folded neatly in the drawers, while a couple of summer dresses are hung up.

I pull open a drawer, searching for a pair of trackies that I folded in before and..._The Slayer does not walk in this world..._where did that come from? That is the _second_ time already! I blink quickly. Prophetic dreams, yes, but freaky messages that fly into my head?

I decide to ignore it. I don't want to whine on my first day here to either Giles or Dumbledore. If it happens again...I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I find my navy blue track-pants and also slip on my favourite white training singlet. I wonder what the time is...I didn't bring a watch, not that it would work properly in a house this embedded with magic. There's no clock in my room either.

I walk over to my bedside and unzip my suitcase, pulling out the twin daggers that I brought, as well as a couple of stakes for target practice. As I fumble in my bag, my fingers graze a small piece of velvet, thrown in haphazardly whilst packing in L.A. I close my eyes briefly and push away the grief that's bubbling underneath the surface.

Now, more than ever, I feel the need to pummel something. Hurriedly, I change into track shoes and head out.

I'm greeted by the dankness of the corridor, thick and cold like Death just sauntered through. Resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose, I head left, back towards the grand staircase. I almost want to try and whistle a tune, just to see if it slices the gloom radiating from the walls.

As I tread past similar wooden doors, I can hear a heated discussion coming from behind one. I hesitate, and peer at the door. Like all the others, it's large, with a doorknob with a serpent's head. If it is possible, though, the snake seems to almost hiss, and as I hear who is speaking, I am not surprised.

"She will be nothing but a menace to the Order and to our group. It is ridiculous that Dumbledore even considered bringing someone so inexperienced," growls the voice behind the door.

Ah, Snape. My personal fan club.

"She seemed quite capable in your little encounter with her, Severus," a bemused voice that I do not recognise replies.

I stifle a giggle, but bite my lip as the voices go silent. Crap...caught out, Summers! I hastily look around for an escape, but there are only open corridors on both sides. My eye catches the staircase...

Just as I hear the door click open, I sprint and vault myself off the staircase railing, landing louder than I would like on the marble flooring below. But thank God I'm not wearing boots. I try to remember which way the kitchen is and run in that obscure direction. I bite my tongue to keep the laughter from erupting, swinging a random door open and following narrow stone steps.

I can hear voices below, and heave a sigh of relief as I see Sirius and Remus standing in the doorway of a somewhat brighter, but hazy room. The two men look pleased as I approach them.

"Buffy," Sirius says in greeting, "having dinner?"

I shake my head, not wanting to tell them of Snape. I'm surprised Sir Glare-A-Lot hasn't chased me down yet, actually.

"Change of plans, let's start training early," I suggest.

Sirius shrugs, "Sure. Mind if Remus comes?"

I grin slyly, "Of course. Want a bit of action too, huh?"

Both men blush in embarrassment and I laugh at the sight, reassuring them of my good intentions. They lead me into the kitchen, lit by a huge fire roaring at the other end of the room. I wave to a few people, but I suspect that the two men have purposely walked me along the walls to avoid them.

There are a couple of doors leading from the kitchen, and I note that Sirius leads me straight across the room, and to the first door on the left. I see a bowl of fruit on a cluttered dining table, and quickly grab an apple, munching through it as I follow the two men through to my training room.

It's dark at first, and all I can hear is me loudly chomping on my apple, and feel the presence of Sirius and Remus in front of me. Then I hear Sirius mutter the word, _Lumos_, I think, and the whole room is filled with a bright light.

I nearly drop my apple at the sight. The room is cavernous, to say the least. But that's not what shocks me. _All_ my training gear has been fitted in. I'm talking beams to punching bags, mats and _swords_. I can feel my jaw slacken, and I don't bother to close it as I gaze in astonishment.

At the sound of chuckles, I flick my eyes over to Sirius. The two men look amused.

"Dumbledore mentioned a Mr. Giles arranging for your _goods_ to be here," Sirius amusedly says.

"Yeah, no kidding," I mutter, continuing to chomp on my apple and do a couple of stretches.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna be here a while, and it looks like I won't really need your help tonight," I say, slightly apologetic.

"We've got nothing else, really, tonight," Remus says, settling back on a mat against a wall, "it'd be interesting to watch you."

I blush slightly, and turn away, finishing my apple and admiring the number of swords that Giles sent, hanging up beautifully on the walls. I move to one of the longer beams set up. Meditation first.

I try to ignore the two curious gazes from the other side of the room, making concentrating even harder. I try to remember Giles' voice, his words during that first meditation session after facing the First Slayer. I lie in a push-up position on the beam, and shut my eyes, taking deep breaths.

You are the centre...within you, there is the core of your being...of what you are... 

It feels slow, like time is grinding to a halt. There's a rhythm in me, blood pulsing, heart pumping, nerves quivering. I search, dive deep into my lungs, my vessels, my soul...

Find it... 

The rhythm's louder, throbbing in my ears. My head feels light; I can feel every inch of me crawling.

Breathe into it... 

Oxygen pumps in, my life force. It gives me a heady feeling, and there's a sudden onslaught of murky images with every breath. I find my concentration lapsing, trying to grasp onto images that could make sense. Words are tumbling around in my head, and I feel like crying.

Focus inward...let the world fall away... 

I feel like screaming. There's a burning inside me that's so cold, I feel like Death has crawled under my skin and is wracking my body. Breathe, just breathe...

Fall away... 

I feel my eyes snap open, harsh, but somehow I'm not attached. It's there, but...I vault myself up into a handstand, wanting to groan at the blood-rush to my head that's making me dizzy. But I bite my tongue and shut my eyes for a moment, re-gathering my bearings. It takes a while for my body to gain control, but once I am back without that horrid burning, I lift my left hand off.

After a minute or so, I swap hands, and then spring off the beam and shake my arms gently.

I take a quick glance over at Sirius and Remus, and see them watching me intently. I shoot them a quick grin before moving onto my trusty punching bag. As I start slowly, jabbing the bag leisurely, I'm extremely confused by the burning I felt in me. I never used to have that while meditating.

I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead and my singlet as I work up the pace, still wondering at the pain that shot through me earlier. In a matter of minutes, I'm thoroughly enjoying the frenzied blows I'm hitting the bag with, thrown in with a few kicks. Finally, I end with a solid roundhouse and breathe out.

Now for the fun, I grin.

"Either of you know how to play with swords?" I ask innocently.


	9. Brady Bunch

The two men look at each other warily, and I smirk, knowing that they're pondering on how badly I can _really_ kick their asses. I don't bother waiting for an answer as I amble over to the wall, grabbing two blades, one of which is _Fatalis_, named after my battle with Angelus. Kinda surprising, actually, what a serious name I had given one of my favourite weapons...considering that my stake is called Mr. Pointy.

"Who's Mr. Pointy?" I hear Remus ask from behind me.

Damn, must've been muttering out loud.

Whirling around, I throw him a sword that he catches deftly by the helm, twirling the fairly light weapon around.

"Trust me, you'd know Mr. Pointy if you met him," I reply with a grin, leaning slightly to his side to peek at Sirius still sitting on a mat at the other end of the room, curiousity rolling off him in waves.

The two of us walk to the centre of the room, and I push a few of the beams out of the way, and unhook the punching bag as well. Leaving the mats on the ground, I give Remus a minute to adjust to the sword while I turn around and stretch. I know he's ready when the faint, but sharp humming sound of the blade slicing through the air stops, awaiting a much more vicious sound of weapons clashing.

Turning back, I see that he is poised, waiting for me to initiate the fight. I raise my sword as well, a grim feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I see the bright light glint off _Fatalis_, reminding me harshly off the battle with Angelus, even after all these years.

Xander constantly tells me that I give him the wiggins when I get my 'battle-face' on because he knows that something is going to get hurt. Bad. He said I also I look like a possessed Barbie. Of course this resulted in a major glare-fest for the next week or so.

Now, I try not to look too serious for Remus' sake, as I start to circle him.

"You played with swords before?" I ask, stepping warningly around him before bringing my blade down swiftly, to be met with his. Good, the werewolf knows his stuff.

He shrugs, but keeps his eye on me, "A bit. I prefer to use magic though."

He gets sick of waiting and endless circling, slashing his sword with three blows to mine that I block easily. Men, impatience is always what kills 'em. It was the same with Angelus. Always too eager to be bloody and ruthless in battle.

Remus continues to prove this statement true as he swipes at me with his sword, movements that are fervent, but jagged. I wait patiently until I sense him tiring. Defending is easy, especially since Remus' moves aren't nearly that quick, and I can anticipate his actions.

I wait until I feel that weak spot, that single moment when his strength does not entirely fill his sword's actions because he is weakening. Surprisingly, it takes him quite a while to tire, and I can see that he is puzzled as to why I am not beating him to a pulp.

Buffster Secret No. 1: Always act like the damsel-in-distress, despite the fact that your opponent knows that you were born to fight Evil.

Then I feel it, a weaker sound in the clash of our swords. Remus hears it too, and I flash him a warning smirk. He puts up his defences immediately as I start to bring _Fatalis_ to life. I swing the sword around in what I know are blindingly fast moves, feeling my Slayer strength pump to the surface.

I can feel the exhilaration in my blood, a sensation that I have missed sorely since the battle with The First, to my great shock. For years I have dreamed of having a normal life, to just be a simple girl with great friends and maybe a decent job. It still hurts to wake up everyday, knowing that my very essence was born of evil and that normality is something that I can never have.

These thoughts plague my mind; I can feel my blood, _Slayer blood_, pounding deafeningly in my ears, imitated by the havoc that I am wreaking with _Fatalis_. My muscles are screaming with much-missed energy as I do a spin, nimbly kicking Remus' sword out of his hands. My thoughts hit me too late as my body responds to my Slayer sense crying _werewolf_, and I jump-kick, catching Remus by the neck and throwing him to the floor.

Breathing heavily, the oxygen flow to my brain reinstates thought and I look on in horror at Remus breathing in pain on the mat.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" I say in shock, rushing over to him.

He manages to give me a feeble smile, clutching his side.

"Wow," he croaks, "remind me never to get on your bad side."

I give a small laugh of relief, as Sirius rushes over too, a wide grin on his face.

"That was incredible!" he said excitedly, ignoring his friend in pain, "where'd you learn to fight like that?"

His smile is wonderful, it's like watching Angel smile in his rare moments, except Sirius' gloom seems to have completely disappeared. I blush slightly, hoping that any red is camouflaged from my already pink-tinted cheeks from the workout.

"All part of the Slayer package," I reply, "Oh, and doing about seven years of practice helps too."

The two men laugh, Remus still holding his side gingerly.

"Have I mentioned that I'm sorry?" I wince as I see the werewolf try to hide his pain.

He merely chuckles back, "I'll have to hold you to that Miss Summers..."

My comeback is interrupted when a frizzy-haired head peeks through the door and says, "We're having pudding for dessert, and Mrs Weasley wants you to eat something."

Sirius whips his head around and nods, saying, "Thanks Hermione, we'll be out soon."

When the door shuts, I look at the two men curiously. That _Hermione_ didn't sound older than Dawn. What was she doing in such an evil house?

Sirius must sense my puzzlement because he says, adding a grin at the end, "You'll meet the kids in the kitchen. And the whole Weasley lot."

I busy myself, putting all the equipment back in place as Remus and Sirius head towards the door. Once I finish, I re-enter the kitchen with great interest. Sitting around the paper-cluttered table that I had grabbed my apple from previously, is an assortment of people, ranging from bright and loud redheads to the depressing and sinister-looking Snape in one corner, avoiding the light.

The volume immediately drops as the three of us enter, and I can feel a number of eyes on me. No guessing which family the redheads in the room belong to.

"Dear, try some pudding. You must be absolutely ravenous," Mrs Weasley gently orders, dishing some sweet-looking dessert into a bowl and ushering me into a seat next to another redhead, one of her sons, I think.

I find a calloused hand in front of my face before I even consider eating the pudding, and I look to my side.

"Bill Weasley," the young man introduces himself, shaking my hand.

I can't help but notice the earring in his ear, and unwanted, naughty thoughts are soon plaguing my head, spawned from one observation: rebel-boy. I believe Anya, ever the wordsmith, described it as 'horny thoughts that I want to do...right now.' A fierce blush colours my cheeks, and I chastise myself, desperately trying to keep my thoughts from continuing to stray down that very impish path.

"Buffy Summers," I reply.

"I know, I was in the meeting," he says, but I notice some hesitation in his voice and follow whom his eyes flick to. The frizzy-haired girl from before and two other redheads sitting across the table from us, staying quiet and diverting their eyes as if they were trying to eavesdrop.

I shoot Bill a wink before loudly saying, "Oh, I just loved the way I was welcomed this afternoon. The men in that meeting, _mmm_, so experienced in making a girl feel comfortable..."

The room falls deathly silent and I smirk triumphantly when I catch the flabbergasted and slightly nauseous looks on the three kids' faces. I stick my hand out across the table, "Buffy Summers."

They look at me as if I had just morphed into the devil incarnate. It's a while before the frizzy-haired girl introduces herself, even though I already know her name.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says. I know immediately that this is high school Willow-reborn – her matter-of-fact tone gives her away as a Scooby-researcher and bookworm. I swear if they used computers here, she'd be a hacker.

"And you are...?" I look pointedly at the redheaded boy sitting next to her.

He gulps audibly and replies, "R-Ron Weasley."

"Ginny Weasley," the other small redhead introduces.

"Wow, what is this, like the Brady Bunch? How many of you _are_ there?" I ask randomly to the room. At least _one_ Weasley must hear me.

"Seven, not counting mum and dad," Bill replies with a grin.

"Was she serious?" I hear a hushed whisper from across the table.

I laugh, saying, "Nah, I wouldn't come all the way across the globe just to find some action. We have enough men looking for some in California."

The three of them continue to look at me, confused as to whether I really do have a one-track mind, or whether I'm on a completely different topic. I decide to clear their heads a little. Maybe mess around a bit...

"Ever heard of the Slayer?" I ask. The two Weasleys shake their heads, but Hermione nods fervently.

"Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One,

one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil..." she rambles.

Wow, this is like a she-Giles. Did I just think that? My face contorts in disgust. That was just...eww.

"Woah, slow down little wannabe-Watcher," I interrupt. Hermione blushes, slightly embarrassed.

"You got the right idea, that's basically what it's all about, and that's basically what _I'm_ all about," I say.

There's a momentary pause before all three kids charge at me with questions. Through their rambling, I see a revolted Snape walk out the kitchen door, cape billowing behind him in all his pride.

Ignoring him, I hold up one hand, making the kids pause abruptly in their chatter.

"One at a time," I say, pointing to Hermione first.

"I thought Slayers were a myth, as well as vampires!" she says incredulously.

"Well...no. See me? I'm livin', breathin' evidence of a Slayer. As for vampires, well, without them, there really is no Slayer," I reply before pointing to Ron.

"Even if there _are_ vampires, how could you be strong enough?" he asks with the same disbelieving tone as Hermione.

I always felt that it was much easier explaining strength in 'show-and-tell', rather than just 'tell'. I look around for a source, when my eye catches Bill's. I grin mischievously, and he looks slightly worried. I stand, and motion for him to do the same. He follows, but slightly hesitant.

He has a good build, and I allow my eyes to wander over him for a moment, trying in vain to push those thoughts away.

I look over to Ron and say, "Think I can lift him?"

Now, I'm at least two feet shorter than Bill, and a lot slimmer too. I catch Ron's sceptical look before I brace my hands on Bill's chest and stomach and effortlessly lift him in the air. He gives a yelp of surprise as he's being held up there, and I snigger.

I can feel my arms tire quicker than usual though, after my training session, and I put him down, much to his obvious relief. I turn back to Ron, and see a gobsmacked look upon his face. That boy has the funniest facial expressions.

"Questions answered?" I ask all three of them.

They nod in response, but I can tell they are itching for more answers.

"How about you three charming kids take me for a tour around the house tomorrow?" I ask them.

They utter keen replies, and I smile. A yawn escapes my lips though, and I give an apologetic look. Mrs Weasley is the one to usher me back to my room, though, handing me soft, maroon towels for the shower. After having a quick wash, I settle back into bed, thinking of how quickly the day has passed.

Just earlier this morning I was miserably watching the doors of the Hyperion close shut, another chapter in the life of Buffy Summers closed. This episode seems to be more promising, a new start, without the haunting thoughts of Sunnydale following me around.

But there's a gnawing feeling that's creeping out in me, something's missing. I close my eyes, and am so sleepy. Random thoughts drift through, but one lullaby echoes through the night.

Can't even shout...can't even cry...the Gentlemen are coming by... 


	10. Mission: Impossible

I'm getting uber-vibes from Snape. It's like the guy had a childhood trauma that resulted from a girl kicking his ass. Actually, that _would_ explain a lot of things. He's sitting across the table from me, and glaring as I'm trying to listen and pay attention to what Dumbledore has to say. For once. I swear if he keeps up those glowers, he'll end up looking like he got bashed in. And let me just say that I wouldn't mind adding to that look.

"...be extreme danger in this case, as we are lacking in vital information at this point," Dumbledore says seriously.

I have been tuning out since the meeting started. Blah blity blah...slay some evil wizards who have nothing better to do than light up Hornet fireworks...blah blah blity blah...try not to get in Glare-Face's way...

I've been thinking about those creepy messages that somehow filtered through yesterday. Constant reminders of Sunnydale, but in a way, feel different. I'd figured out the twisted cryptic message of _'Death is my Gift'_ that the Powers sent me at home, but I can't help but feel that these messages flying through my mind apply to something that I'm meant to be helping with here...

Ahh, all this thinking is making my brain hurt. Time to get down to some real Slayage-business.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" I interrupt.

The others in my Slay-Squad look at me oddly. Except for Snape of course, he's still glaring.

I sigh in exasperation. Haven't these people heard of team spirit? It doesn't take a bimbo cheerleader to figure it out.

"Y'know? Plan? Like a solution to kill the bad guy?" I ask.

"Well, usually, we just go in and start hexing the daylights out of them," Tonks offers with a weak smile.

I finally remembered my first note-to-self earlier today. Looks can _seriously_ be deceiving; there's a lot under that bubblegum hair of hers. It seems like the whole wizarding world is made up of people who have duo personalities. Once again, the only exception is Mr. Glare. His intentions are perfectly clear.

"Before I continue and explain _why_ we need a plan," I start, before reverting my eyes back to Snape, "Would you just QUIT your evil glowering and whining?! Make with the sunshine and roses, pronto! Your evilness is going to give me hives!"

The guy looks at me like I had grown horns. Instinctively, I have a desperate urge to touch my hair, but force it down. Glancing at Dumbledore, I see that his lips are pursed and I could swear that his shoulders are trembling slightly from laughter.

The others look slightly baffled at my words. I ignore them and continue.

"As I was saying, we need a plan. I've had many experiences with simply charging into baddies without a plan. Simply put, it doesn't work. Sure, you might get lucky a couple of times, but from what Dumbledore has been saying, these guys mean business," I explain, looking from face to face.

Silvica looks like an old geezer that I would have usually ignored on the streets of Sunnydale as I patrolled. But as Tonks informed me earlier, he's one of Dumbledore's most trusted Aurors. One that shouldn't be crossed with lightly. I had a closer look before the meeting started, and now realise that his ragged look was one from being battle-worn, not so much as age.

Tonks still has her bright pink hair, but she explained that she could change its colour any time. You're like a Change-My-Hair Barbie, I said. She just peered at me oddly. It's slightly annoying that these people have no clue about any cultural references that I make, but I think it's curious at the same time. It gives me ample opportunity to tease and insult when they have no clue as to what I'm talking about.

And Snape? Well, what can we say about the Glare-Meister...

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore agreed with a suspiciously bright twinkle in his eye, "I do suggest that you organise something before charging into a foray of Dark Wizards. As I have said, Lucius Malfoy may be among this group, so tread with great care once you get to Alma Forest."

With that, Dumbledore walks over to the door, about to leave our group to do Auror-type work. Before he touches the door, however, he turns around and shoots a dignified grin to us, "I expect _all_ of you to return tonight, so please try to refrain from killing each other." He says this last part, obviously directed at Snape and I.

"Who, us? Nah..." I reply innocently, but with a cheeky smirk.

The wizard chuckles before leaving. Once the door clicks shut, I turn back to the rest of them.

"Well, I was never The Brain of the group, just Pinky on steroids," I say, resisting the urge to return Snape's death stare when he snorted, "so, any of you got a formation plan?"

----------------------------------------------------------------

Forty-five minutes later, I'm back in my room, slipping into my favourite leather pants. Just for the occasion, my first battle in this wizarding world. Hearing knocks on the door, I frown, quickly throwing on a black T-shirt and navy jacket as well. Dumbledore had warned as to dress with the intent of camouflage. Three wizards and a Slayer against a group of about 15 or more Dark wizards – we need the element of surprise.

I open the door, surprised to find Hermione standing there.

"Hi Buffy," she chirps, before narrowing her eyes slightly at my dark attire, "Are you going out?"

I had learnt of the Order's secrecy with the kids in the house. I can't blame them, but if they are anything like Dawn, I know they'll scope it out eventually. But for now I'll just have to keep my mouth shut.

"Uh, no," I reply, feeling slightly guilty for lying through my teeth, "Why?"

"Well, we were thinking of showing you the house now," she replies. I can tell that the gadgets in her mind are whirring away – she got a similar pensive look that I have often seen on Willow when she was feeling suspicious.

"It's a bit late, isn't it?" I ask, smirking as I look out my window, seeing the sun starting to set, "Why didn't you get me earlier?"

"Well, uh," she stutters, "Um, Ginny, and uh, Ron and I were, um..."

"Were what?" I ask, still smirking.

"Cleaning!" Hermione exclaims, her cheeks blushing furiously, "Um, we were cleaning!"

I give her a skeptical look, showing that I know she's lying.

"I'm assuming that you weren't _cleaning_ near the Order's room, now were you?"

Hermione doesn't answer, and if possible, her face seems to flame up even more and I can't help but giggle. She shoots me a glare, but I pointedly ignore her annoyed look.

"Well, why don't you guys give me the tour tomorrow? I don't think I'm gutsy enough to tour this spooky house at night yet," I answer with a wink.

She seems satisfied with the answer and leaves as I breathe an inward sigh of relief.

Now, for the mission. If I can get through this night with Snape, that alone will be a remarkable effort.

I hurry over to my bed, bending over and yanking out my suitcase. Flipping it open, I grab a couple of stakes, hiding one in the waist of my pants, and the other inside my jacket. I also grab one of my twin daggers, snapping it onto a leg guard before retrieving my broadsword and giving it an experimental swing.

It still scares me to know how willingly I'm going to be killing humans, even if they are evil or not. But according to Dumbledore, they can't get rid of these Death Eater guys without killing them; apparently their Ministry won't be too fond of a gang of evil guys sitting on their doorstep, captured or not.

Reminds me so much of the Watcher's Council. Bunch of no-good dropkicks who are too cowardly to...

Okay, calm down. Save your anger for later. Take it out on the Death Eaters.

I swiftly swap my runners for my trusty boots, and slip out of my room quietly, jogging lightly down the dark corridor, lit by flames that cast long, eerie shadows on the walls. Running down the steps, I'm careful not to let my heels clack too loudly on the tiles below. I walk briskly down the hallway to the Order's room where I find my team waiting for me.

I notice that Tonks' has changed her hair colour to a navy blue. While whipping my hair into a messy bun, I ask, "Remember the plan?"

The three of them give me brisk nods as a reply and I grin in anticipation, "Let's go kick some Death ass."

My Slay-team merely raises their eyebrows. I snort. This is going well.

"So? Chop-chop! Get with the program? How do we get to this Lama Forest?"

Snape gives me a withering look, "It's _Alma_ Forest, Summers, and we're getting there by Portkey."

I do have enough sense not to keep going with the 20 Questions. I'd rather not hurt the guy before the fight's even started, as pleasing as it sounds. Mr. Glare motions to a thin plastic rose on the long wooden table. The other two seem to know what they're doing, so I just follow them. They reach out and touch it...

I was never a fan of motion sickness, and still am not. It's hard to keep a strong hold on my sword with the tugging in my stomach. It doesn't help quell the urge to barf either. Then there's the dizziness in my head from all the swirling...

Suddenly there's ground on my feet and I quickly grab myself to keep from stumbling. It's dark, and my Slayer-vibes immediately start to tingle when I notice that we've arrived at the outer edges of the forest.

"Stay in form," I hear Silvica whisper, "take down as many as possible while hidden. Avoid direct confrontation unless absolutely necessary."

The usual rules, no biggie. I'm a bit put-off at not being given the chance to do my trademark quip-and-slay, what with needing to be sneaky and all. I notice that the three of them have already begun to move towards the forest, so I cover the back as planned.

If it wasn't for my Slayer-sight, I'd probably trip fairly soon. I can barely make out Silvica and Tonks to the sides in front, let alone Snape way ahead. I hone my senses, and as we tread silently through the dense foliage, the hairs on my neck prickle more strongly with each step I take.

Finally, I can hear the murmurings of a group ahead of us, and see the two Aurors in front me hesitate slightly before moving to their positions. I continue straight forward, now seeing a small fire lit, flickering off dark-robed figures in a large circle. As I inch closer, I look around for a low-hanging branch and spot one not far ahead of me. I follow the plan, and loudly crack a twig with my boot heel. Repressing the urge to snigger at about 15 robed heads flicking at once, I sprint forward, chucking my sword at the base of the tree before somersaulting onto the branch, remaining on a handstand at the top.

Upside down, I can still make out the figures dispatching from the large circle. Two or three head my way, and as they separate slightly, I swing down and land silently on the tree's large roots below. I lunge out and grab one of the robed guys by the mouth, silencing his muffled yells and quickly twist his neck, as I have seen both Angel and Spike do so many times before in Sunnydale.

It hurts to think that I'm killing humans. People. But there's no other choice. If I could, I would slam these people senseless, and throw them in jail, but not kill. But this isn't my world and I'm not playing by my rules. Unless forced to, of course.

The others hear the bone crack and whip around. I quickly grab my sword, swinging deftly as I manage to slash one's neck, narrowly dodging his partner's green-bolted curse by diving to the side. He follows me, but I dodge behind a tree and quickly sweep a lock of stray hair out of my eye before lunging out again behind him, slicing his neck.

By now, the rest of the group is frantic, and bolts of light are flying everywhere. Mostly green, but by the odd colour here and there, I can see where the rest of my team are. I try to keep a low profile still, slicing out in the darkness as I sense these hooded figures around me. Most of them probably wouldn't guess that I'm a girl. Probably not Tonks, either.

Suddenly a hand chokes me around my neck, and I struggle to breathe. My sword clatters to the ground as I try to pry his fingers away. I can tell the guy is butch, as his fingers are chubby, but strong. Gasping, I reach into my half-unzipped jacket, retrieving my stake to drive it into his gut. The guy gives a howl of pain, releasing me and I take a deep breath. Then another pair of hands is on me, tackling me to the ground.

As I fall, I manage to whip around and bring my foot up, kicking the Death Eater off me strongly into the darkness. I roll up and do a high roundhouse as the butch guy comes back, despite the wound I gave him. I manage to snap his neck in the process, and he collapses.

I yank my dagger out, sensing a sinister figure nearby. Taking deep breaths, I twirl it around in my fingers, trying to figure out where the Death Eater is. Suddenly a bolt of green flashes out and I dive, but it clips me on my right shoulder and I gasp in pain. It burns like Hell, and I can tell there's blood already streaming out of the wound. I struggle to kneel.

"Well, well, well," a silkily evil voice sounds, "look what the cat dragged in..."

He's coming closer and I clutch my dagger tightly, despite the burning in my shoulder. Goddamn, it hurts.

"And who do you think you are?" I grit out, "Miss Universe?"

Silence, and then indescribable pain shoots through my body, making me writhe. It's like a thousand hot pokers being shoved over and over, and being flogged at the same time. I refuse to scream, don't give him the satisfaction. Through the pain, I hear a loud thump, and suddenly it's gone, and I'm panting in desperation.

I open my eyes and everything's blurry. I see a figure standing before me, and I try to grab my dagger, but my hand's weak, and pain is wracking my body. Darkness begins to seep in through the corners of my eyes, and I welcome the oblivion that comes with a sigh of relief.


	11. Slayer Nerve

There's so much pain. It's pulsing through my body, and God I hope that my Slayer healing will kick in soon. My eyelids are heavy, and I try to crack them open, but only manage to pry my right eye open. There's only darkness, and then suddenly the dank and cold of the place that I'm in registers.

Snapping my left eye open, I moan softly as I try to sit up. My shoulder is still burning, and a flood of memories of the battle quickly flows in. Sitting up, I gingerly raise my left shoulder, wincing as soreness encompasses me. But a question plagues me even more sorely than my pain, _where am I?_

It's damp beneath me, and my legs are stiff. Then I notice the cold steel bars that surround me. I'm in a cage.

Nowhere to run...nowhere to hide...the Gentlemen are coming by... 

What? So not the time for PTB cryptic messages. God, just get me out of here...

"Ah, so you've decided to awaken," a dangerously low voice drawls from a corner.

"Well, couldn't keep my _gracious_ host waiting," I bite back, flinching as I raise a finger, lightly tracing the deep gash in my right shoulder, crusted with dried blood.

"Such daring for one so young," the voice purrs, getting louder, alerting me that he's coming closer, "are you sure that you want to risk your life with such obstinacy?"

As my blood starts to fiercely pump through me, I can feel the aches start to reside, and I scramble up against the back of the cold cage. The bars press bitterly into my back, through my slightly ripped jacket, and I hold back a gasp as the iciness of the metal stings my skin.

A shadow looms in front of the cage, and I can see through the darkness that he still has his mask on, lurid silver eyes glowing from behind. Wait a minute, _silver?_

"Let me tell you, _bitch_," he hisses, sending chills up my spine, "if it weren't for my Lord's orders, I'd have you screaming in pain for all the trouble you caused me tonight."

Boldly swallowing back my initial fear, I gather the courage that my reputation has had me known for. Slayer-nerve.

"Oh, so sorry to spoil your dinner plans," I reply sweetly, "but there was the pressing issue of you being an evil bastard."

His anger is almost palpable as a livid growl escapes from him, and he nearly charges into the cage. But then he stops, breathing heavily, and a single word escapes his lips, "Crucio."

I barely manage to hold back my shriek as that cursed pain wracks my body, over and over, rendering me helpless and shuddering intensely on the ground. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, stop, stop, stop, stop...._

And then it does, leaving me shivering on the floor in pain, tears streaming down my face, moaning softly in pain. _So much, oh God, it's gonna kill me, I'm going to die..._

"Such a pity I can't do more, but when my Lord is done with you, you'll wish I had," he drawls with a disgustingly pleased tone, "There's much in plan for you."

I don't have the strength to reply, so I just lie there as he leaves, cursing myself for my weakness as the pain continues to pull tears from my stinging eyes. I have to do something, have to get up, have to get out of here...

I try to move, but groan out loud. There's a warm trickle flowing down my arm, and I can smell the blood stream out of my open shoulder wound. Clenching my eyes and biting my tongue, I quickly pull myself up, screaming softly and panting heavily as the pain continues to pound, my back barely supporting me.

I sit there for a few minutes, trying to gather my thoughts through the throbbing. Slowly, I stretch out my limbs as far as possible in the tiny cage, wincing as my shoulder stings, but biting back the pain. As the blood starts to flow again, my head clears.

I peer through the darkness and spot a tiny glass window situated high on the wall, barely letting in some air and a fracture of moonlight. It's probably got some strong mojo on it to keep me from getting out, but as I squint around the room, I realise that it's my only escape.

Formulating a quick, probably reckless plan in my head, I try to gather as much strength as possible by doing a quick meditation. Crossing my legs, I focus what energy I have left on my heart, the organ inside me that's not coiling in pain. Breathing deeply, I empty my mind and wait for my heart to gratefully pump healing blood through me.

I don't know how long passes as I sit there in complete silence and eerie emptiness, but eventually, the sharp soreness resides, leaving me only slightly stiff in my muscles. I raise a gentle finger to my wound, and am glad to find only a thin crust of blood remaining as a scab.

Now, the escape.

I lean forward, grabbing one of the metal bars, and wrap my hands around it. I grunt as I lie on my side, latching my feet onto another bar on the other side, pulling my body, and in turn, my hands towards it, bending the bar.

The metal creaks before bending away fully, leaving a partial, gaping hole. I crawl out, and stretch the kinks out of my body. I pat myself, realising that the only weapon I have left is the one stake tucked snug in the side of my pants. But then I feel a thin object next to it and I draw it out curiously.

It's the plastic rose that we used to get to the forest. Hope bubbles in me; I can get back, but then I realise that I'm _touching_ it, and there's no poof! magic going on. The bastard must've put some anti-Portkey stuff on this place, 'cause I do remember Snape saying that all I had to do was touch it, and I'd be back at HQ.

Sighing, I stuff it back in the waistband of my leather pants and make to drag the cage over to the window. It grounds loudly against the concrete, and I frown. This isn't going to work, not without waking the friendly neighbours anyway.

I bend down and shoving back a grunt, hoist the heavy steel cage over to the wall, trying to lower it as quietly as possible. Nimbly jumping onto the cage, I flinch as my boots clang loudly against the metal. Pausing, my breath softens as I listen intensely for any footsteps.

Nothing comes. I turn back to the window, feet wide as they balance on the metal bars. I scowl as I can feel the crackles of magic emanating from the small glass window. If I'm lucky, I could probably squeeze through, but most likely without an immense amount of pain.

Laying my left hand against the cold wall, I hesitantly push one finger towards the charmed glass. As I touch it, I gasp and topple off the cage as a burst of pain rips through me.

Damn him! Lying on the floor, I shake my head. Damn that stupid Voldemort and his prick followers! Tensing up, I brace myself for a huge amount of pain as I crawl onto the cage again, this time, resting one foot back on the edge, the other raised in preparation for a solid kick.

Clenching my fists, I shove my foot through and stumble back as throbs smash through my leg, pieces of glass also embedding through my pants. Falling back onto the floor again, I realise that I need to get out; won't be too long before my captors realise what I've done.

I gingerly, but quickly lean over my leg, gritting my teeth and ripping shards of glass out of my leg. I stumble to my feet and in one blur, run forward and launch myself off the cage through the hole in the wall.

It's like dying all over again. The portal that took me to peace had a price on it, unbearable pain that split me through over and over, and this reminded me like it. I knew there was still glass left on the edges and that it was cutting through my skin like butter. Crackles of magic pierce me, stabbing me through and again, all over.

Then it's over, and I can feel myself begin to keel over. Grasping onto the edges of my consciousness, I blindly stagger away. I barely make out huge black gates in the distance, and limp my way towards it, the pain shooting through me making me throw up along the way.

With the acrid taste of bile in my burning throat, and my legs starting to give way, I pray to the PTB to give me strength as I rush over, pummeling into the gate and gasping violently as it gave way against what strength I had left; enough to let me squeeze through.

Voice in the distance alerted me to the immense danger I was still in. They know, they know I've gone, a voice registers in the fogginess of pain in my mind. My head is slamming with pain, and as I leave the icy metal of the gate, I manage to wrench the plastic rose out of my pants before collapsing as the swirl of the Portkey takes me away from the wretched place.


	12. My Greatest Fear

When I crack my eyes open, I'm lying in darkness, and fear wraps its tendrils around me. Didn't the Portkey work? Please don't let me still be in that God-forsaken place...

Then I barely make out the sight of the hideous goblin-plaques along the wall, and nearly sob in relief. I'm back, I'm at Grimmauld Place. Then it hits me, where is everyone? There's no energy left in me, not even to sit up, and it occurs to me that it must be very late, as the whole house is quiet. But wouldn't someone be looking for me? They wouldn't have just left me there, would they...?

Only one way to find out. I give a piercing scream that shatters the silence and echoes through the hollow house. A freaky silence follows before total chaos ensues. The portrait of Mrs. Black awakens, shrieking bloody murder, and the chandelier flicks on, bathing the hall I'm lying in with light.

A herd of footsteps rushes through a door in one end, and panicked voices reach my ears. I close my eyes in relief as a swarm of familiar faces swamp me.

"Oh Goodness, Buffy! Quickly! Levitate her to the kitchen!"

"Buffy! What happened?"

"Bloody Hell! What'd you do?"

"Ron! Don't swear!"  
  
"Shut up, Hermione!"

"Children, go to your rooms immediately!"

"Mum!"

"NOW!!!"

Suddenly, the ground's falling away from me, and my shoulders slump, leaving my arms to dangle off me. My head's still throbbing, but then it's gone, and I wearily open my eyes in questioning.

"A slight charm to relieve the pain, my dear," Dumbledore's worried voice greets me as his face falls in front of me.

"Thanks," I whisper in reply before sighing in relief.

Then I feel a delightfully soft cushioning meeting my beaten body, and I nearly collapse in fatigue. I know the meditation was just temporary, but I didn't expect the exhaustion to hit me so quickly. But there's too much to do, and I need to tell them...

"Molly, tend to her while I organise a Phoenix meeting," says Dumbledore in a hushed, but steely voice.

"Of course, Dumbledore," the woman replies, putting a relieving wet towel to my forehead.

"Oh God, Buffy, what happened?" I hear Sirius ask me, panicked.

Peeling my eyes open, I see Remus and Sirius looming on top of me. Cracking a weak smile, I reply, "Bulldozer?"

Their faces tell me that it's not the time for jokes, and I sigh.

"Maybe I should wait till the Order gets here. I hate repeating myself," I say.

They nod, retreating to the side, but I feel a warm hand covering mine. Looking over, I see Sirius sitting worriedly next to me, grasping my hand. Giving a small smile, I sink into the relieving comfort and safety of Grimmauld Place.

-----------------------------------------------------

Waking once again, I find myself still lying on a wonderful cushioning, with a crowd of people seated around me in the kitchen. A warm fire is crackling to the side, and blankets have been placed on me. All coldness has left my body, and an indescribable relief swamps me. I notice that Sirius still has his hand on mine.

"How are you feeling, Miss Summers?" Dumbledore's anxious tone asks.

"Peachy," I reply, sitting up and letting go of Sirius' hand, stretching slightly. I shoot him a grateful smile, but can't seem to muster enough energy to leave my position on the table just yet.

"Yes, quite," the wizard says in a relieved, and slightly amused tone, "I apologise for my haste, my dear, and understand if you would not like to discuss it now, but would you care to tell us of your ordeal?"

A bitter frown twists my mouth as memories of all the gruesome pain I underwent came back.

"First, is the rest of my team okay?" I ask.

I see Snape step forward from a dark corner, a hint of remorse on his face, mixed with another that I can't identify. Surprisingly, Sirius gives a low growl when Snape steps out. Silvica and Tonks are seated near at the other end, looking suitably guilty, but all I feel is a sense of relief at their safety.

"Good," I say before addressing the whole team, "Well, we were doing fine in the battle at the forest, but near the end, I narrowly dived from this curse, but it managed to clip me on the shoulder. Next thing I know, this Death Eater's sent this horribly painful curse through me, and I fainted."

The room's fallen deathly silent, and out of the corner of my eye, a couple of bright redheads catch my attention as their hair reflects the bright glint of the fire.

Swallowing, I continue.

"I wake up, and find myself in this cage, sore as Hell. Then this Death Eater comes in, still masked, but with silver eyes I noticed, and strings me along, spouting some crap about not being able to hurt me because of his _Lord's orders_."

I snort, "Orders, my ass. He Crucio-ed me and leaves me there in that wretched cage. So I meditated for a bit and bent one of the bars."

Collective gasps, and I roll my eyes before continuing, "I found the Portkey in my waistband, but it wouldn't work. There was a charmed window at the top, so I carried the cage over and stood on top of it. But when I touched it, it was like that Crucio curse all over again."

"To make a long story short, I kicked through the window, jumped out of it and managed to make it to these huge gates. I pushed through them, and touched that rose, ending up here."

Total silence. My voice has gone a bit scratchy, and I gratefully take the glass of pumpkin juice that Mrs. Weasley gives me.

"You went through all that?" Sirius asks in a hoarse, disbelieving voice.

I shrug, rolling my neck to take out the cricks, "Wasn't too fond of all that pain, I must say."

"Summers!" Snape barks, snapping me out of my phase, "How can you be so damn unconcerned? You nearly died!"

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to retort, but Sirius beats me to it, "You bastard! How can you even talk to her like that? You were meant to look out for her!"

"Hey!" I protest, one hand pushing Sirius back down in his seat, the other rubbing a temple in an oncoming headache with all the yelling, "No one was _meant_ to look out for me, okay? I'm a Slayer, I can handle my own."

Sirius looks like he's about to protest, so I shoot him a warning glare.

"Miss Summers," Dumbledore speaks quietly, "Your strength is incredibly admirable. I'm sure that you do not yet realise that this Crucio curse that you underwent is one of the Unforgivables – curses that have broken many wizards."

Looking across the table that I was still lying on top of, I reply in an equally soft-spoken and shockingly deathly tone that reminds me of when Dawnie was kidnapped, "I don't ever want to go through that again. And when I find that Death Eater, I'm going to make him regret he ever messed with me."

The wizard at the other end nods grimly, an acceptance of what I was promising.

Play-time's over.

--------------------------------------

"Wow," Ron says, mouth gaping.

"Ditto," Ginny echoes.

Hermione merely stares at me in wide-eyed wonder.

It's quite amusing, really. Dawnie was always upset with me being the Slayer and having 'dumb super-powers', but here, I nearly have my own fan club. If she were here, she'd be gagging at all the attention. _If_ she were here...

"Buffy?" Ron asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

"Wha-?" I ask dumbly, "Sorry, spaced out to planet Buffy for a minute."

Only Hermione gives a small giggle, the other two look strangely at me. Oh well, can't win 'em all.

"So, you gonna give me that tour yet?" I ask, leaning my elbows on the kitchen table, and reaching for some more buttered toast.

"Sure! After breakfast?" Ginny asks excitedly.

I smile, biting into the coated bread, "Fine with me."

There are others in the room, but not many as early as the kids, Molly and I. A couple of Aurors had stayed the night, and were having a quick bite before apparating back. There's still a cosy sort of warmth in the room, the only one without the remote feeling of gloom in the house.

I had a peaceful night, thanks to another charm from Dumbledore. No doubt I would have had unrelenting nightmares, but I had sunk into a blissful sleep. I've spent the morning, however, contemplating telling him about the cryptic messages that have been popping up in my head.

"Come on, let's go," Hermione says, yanking me from my thoughts and ushering me out of the kitchen.

"Mum's said that we're to clean out the rooms as we go along," Ron said with a small scowl, "Which is gonna take ages, with all those bloody pixies."

"Ron! Don't swear!" Hermione reprimands, lightly slapping him on the arm.

We make our way up the staircase, the mindless chatter of the three kids, especially Hermione, explaining details of the house allowing me to zone out. It's only been three days, and I've been feeling guilty for not thinking of Dawn or the gang as much as I should be. I suppose being in life-threatening situations is an excuse, but still...

The kids take me into a couple of rooms on the landing, including their rooms. They're similar to mine, except without the ensuite. Walking along, they stop in front of a door.

"We've got to decontaminate this bedroom," Ginny says reluctantly, standing back as Hermione pushes the door open.

It's dark inside, as my room was too, without the curtains drawn. The kids look slightly scared, but Hermione has a defiant look on her face. She whips out her wand, lighting it and stomping in, heading straight for the other end. Yanking the curtains open, she gives us a triumphant look.

"There! Ron, you're doing the next bedroom," she states.

Sighing, Ron nods before entering the room. There's a cupboard in the corner, and a dresser at the other end, as well as two single beds with dusty sheets on them. Hermione heads to the dresser, glancing briefly at a slightly cracked and dust-coated mirror. Ron and Ginny head to one bed each, leaving me still standing in the doorway.

"On the count of three," Hermione says in a steady voice, "One, two, three!"

She rips open the drawer at the same time as Ron and Ginny lift the covers from beds' sides. Little blue sprites whiz out and I laugh loudly as the kids jump around, brandishing their wands, yelling 'STUPEFY!'

The blue pixies freeze in the air, floating around like gravity suddenly disappeared, and Ginny scrambles over to the window, trying to lift the rusty latch without any luck. I hurry over and yank it off, throwing the windows open as Ron and Hermione push the sprites out of the window before shoving the glass panes close.

As they collapse on the ground with a sigh of relief, I make my way over to the cupboard.

"Hey, you missed this one – "I say, swinging the cupboard doors open. An unexpected figure leaps out, however, crumpling to the floor in a whirl of brunette hair. Shocked, I quickly crouch down and turn her over, screaming when Dawn's face peers up at me, pallid and eyes cold, blood trickling out of the corners of her mouth.

I pull her up, sobbing, incoherent thoughts tumbling around. Oh God, Dawnie, Dawnie, Dawnie...

I vaguely hear the kids' voices in the back, yelling, but nothing really registers except my sister's cold, limp body in my arms. Suddenly a clear voice yells out, "RIDDIKULUS!"

My sister's body dissipates into a silvery orb, and with a puff, vanished into the air. I turn furious and wild eyes to the doorway, screaming, "What did you do to her?! Where is she?!"

Remus is standing there, with Snape, both looking at me with great concern. Snape has his wand drawn, still pointing to where my dead sister had just lain.

"It was a boggart, Buffy," Remus explains softly, "A shape shifter, a spirit that takes on your greatest fear."

My hand flies to my mouth; an automatic response. Sobs rip out, unwanted, and I lean against the cupboard, its doors slamming shut. Covering my face, I slide down. My mind is blank, and all I can think of is Dawnie, unmoving and cold.

"Oh God, I thought she was dead," I sob as arms encircle me, "I thought she was dead."

"Who?" Remus asks me quietly.

Stop, Buffy. Think. I breathe raggedly, lifting red eyes to Remus, and only seeing concern written in his face. Gazing over his shoulder, the kids are still there, staring at me in shock, while Snape is still in the doorway, stony as ever. But his eyes betray him, disquiet evident even from here.

"Dawn, my sister," I whisper.


	13. Return

"Your sister?" Remus repeats with a dumbfounded tone, his arms rubbing mine in soothing circular motions.

I nod tiredly, a trace of hysteria and sorrow still coursing through me after seeing the boggart, "Yeah, she's gone through Hell and back, lately."

By now, the three kids have hurried over and seated themselves in a protective circle around me. Ron and Ginny's vibrant hair catches my attention, and I cast heavy eyes on them until I can feel them water and blur. I rub my eyes gently, and hastily wipe away any tear tracks on my face. I blink a few times in an effort to clear the saltiness left from my tears.

"She didn't look like you," Remus muses quietly, his arms now by his sides, leaving the damp air to chill my skin.

I sigh, "It's a long story. Just believe that she is, okay?"

"Of course," Remus replies, a worried crinkle forming on his brow. Good one, Buffy. Just _had_ to mention that Dawn's more complicated that she seems, right?

Snape's left, I notice, as I pick myself up from the ground. And the kids are very quiet. Dusting a film of dust off my clothes, I glance at them. I can tell Hermione is trying not to be rude and stare, but her curiousity is palpable from here. Ron and Ginny, however, don't bother to hide their shock, and the expressions on their faces are almost laughable.

"Come on," I beckon from the doorway, desperate to leave the room, "I always need a good cookie after a cry."

They follow, trooping out of the room and across the dim landing towards the kitchen. Remus trails behind, quietly shutting the door, and once again, I'm reminded at the eerie stillness of this place.

"Thank you," I murmur, suddenly shy and feeling my cheeks heat up.

He lifts my chin with a finger, like Xander used to, "I'm sorry you had to go through that at all, Buffy. It's one of the worst creatures to ever encounter unguarded."

I simply nod, and follow him towards the stairs, but hesitate as Remus goes down.

"Something wrong?" he turns and asks.

I pause.

"No, no, I just need to get a change of clothes, that's all. Sliding down that cupboard left me with an icky feeling," I reply with a reassuring smile, "Just save me a cookie, 'kay?"

Remus chuckles as he turns back around. I continue across the landing, but instead of returning to my room, I seek out the glinting serpent head. The creepy hiss resonates from the silver doorknob, but I ignore it and knock softly.

Silence, and then the door swings open, revealing a scowling Snape.

"What do you want, Summers?" he asks irritably.

I try to keep my face blank, even though I have the strong urge to smack him.

"Mind if I come in?"

I smother a snigger when I see him try to squash his surprise. Bet no one's asked that in a while. Not saying a word, he steps to one side and I step through the door.

An immediate chill tingles across my skin, but unlike the other room, there is a lesser sense of dampness. The room is incredibly dark, with only a dim chandelier lighting the room. Colour me surprised when I see black satin sheets spread across the bed.

"Nice pad," I comment, grabbing a nearby chair and plopping down on it.

His glare has returned to its usual place, and I inwardly sigh. There is no hope with this man. It's like he _lives_ off self-pity. I realise with a startle that it is not unlike myself a few days ago...

"I just wanted to say thanks for saving me from that boggart," I say, my gaze focused intently on a tiny speck on the dark carpet.

There's a long pause, and then, "It's nothing. Should've been there when Malfoy took you anyhow."

I raise my eyes and brush off his comment, "Was nothing you could do. This Malfoy guy would've found some other way to get me, and if what Dumbledore said is right, we would've had more than just one injured Slayer to take care of."

I see that he isn't going to argue; I expect as much. But his next question catches me off-guard.

"You sacrificed for her, didn't you?"

My body stiffens, and I hastily avert my gaze. What can I say? It's been nearly a year, but I still don't feel ready. What to say, what to say, what to say...

"I sacrificed for a lot of people," I murmur, picking imaginary lint off my pants.

"Why?"

Startled, I look at Snape. His eyes, for once, are unguarded. Now, they burn with an emotion that I have often seen in Angel's. The need for redemption. He's shrouded in darkness, a thick blanket that he's trying to throw off, but it's suffocating him.

"The same reason that you're here," I reply tonelessly with a shrug, "because if I don't, it's wrong."

The moment the words leave my mouth, bolts of pain pierce my mind and I bring my hands up to cradle my head. I feel myself falling off the chair, writhing in the blinding pain that's strickening me. I shut my eyes, and immediately, the pain subsides, but the sharp throbbing is accompanied with familiar words.

You can't do that...it's wrong! Because it's wrong...because it's naughty...because it's wrong...because it's wrong...you can't do that...

"SHUT UP!" I scream, not noticing the strong arms that have lifted me, "get out of my head! Get out!"

Do you think I'm afraid of you...you're nothing...you're out of your league, little girl...

The voice has changed, and now it sends alarming prickles down my spine, causing me to twitch tensely. The throbbing has increased to loud thudding in my ears, and all I can hear is the incessant hissing in my head.

The Slayer does not walk in this world...it's wrong...it's naughty...you're nothing... 

Now there's a painful burning in my hands, and I whimper. The pain is much worse than that of the Crucio...this is never-ending torture.

Counting down from 7-3-0, Slayer...watch your back.

The throbbing suddenly leaves, and I collapse in relief. I barely notice that I'm lying on the kitchen table once more, a pair of calloused hands resting soothingly on my head.

God, how much pain do I have to go through in this place? I didn't realise leaving Sunnydale meant coming right back to it. Evil factor, anyway.

"Miss Summers, are you alright?" an aged voice asks, and I recognize that it's Dumbledore.

"No," I croak, but try to sit up, nonetheless.

I gently push away hands trying to support me, and gratefully take the glass of pumpkin juice from a worried Molly Weasley. Once I swallowed the cool liquid, I gave my temple a few rubs before turning to Dumbledore. Snape is there too, but in the corner once again. There's only the four of us.

A vague thought wanders through my mind, wonder where Remus and the kids are...or even Sirius, for that matter. Brushing the thoughts aside, I straighten my back and talk through the hoarse tone of my voice.

"I've been getting this weird messages, lately," I begin quietly, playing with my glass, "memories of a sort. Little parts of speech from the past that come flitting through my mind."

"Lately it's gotten worse, more frequent, and usually with pain," I say, feeling guilty when I hear a soft gasp from Molly.

"Why didn't you tell us, dear?" she asks in an anxious voice, mixed with a trace of hurt.

I shrug. Why _didn't_ I tell anyone? Because you're the Slayer, a tiny voice whispers menacingly.

Dumbledore muses silently, his usual twinkling eyes now dampened by the situation.

"And what happened just now?"

"Voices again. It started with mine, well, Faith's actually, but she was in my body at the time, and," I trail off. It's hard to explain exactly _what_ happened with Faith, let alone that she was a rogue Slayer who shouldn't even have been posted.

"Anyway, voice, like I said," I continue, "then this hissing, evil voice repeated words that sounded like the First..."

The First. Here, in my head. Oh God.

Not again.


	14. My Sacrifice

Dumbledore, Snape and Molly look at me with mixed emotions on their faces: confusion, worry, annoyance...The old wizard _must_ know something of Sunnydale, or he wouldn't have asked me to come, would he?

Despite all his ministrations, there's still a faint thumping at the base of my skull that's making me feel slightly queasy. My hands are trembling slightly and I try to hide them by stuffing them underneath me.

"What's wrong?" Molly asks in an anxious tone, her bright green eyes roaming my face for a sickness. But it's inside...there's nothing anyone can do to cure the fear, the torture...

"The First," I whisper, "it's back."

No one moves. A pensive silence settles like a cloud of dust, slowly choking us as they realise the enormity of the situation.

"What is it?"

Snape asks this, and I can tell that he's not enjoying being left in the dark. It's a new evil that he has absolutely no idea about, and he knows this. Everyone must know, they must have an inkling of the power of absolute evil. I just happened to be the lucky one to encounter it.

I chance a glance at Dumbledore, and see that his wise face is marred with deep lines. For once, he truly looks his age, probably a few centuries, at least. Troubled blue eyes meet mine and I can see the depth in them, the real power that the wizard has, crackling away.

"The First," I murmur, casting my eyes to Snape, still shrouded in dim light, "is pure evil, unadulterated. It will stop at nothing to create chaos and darkness. It's an enemy that you don't wanna mess with."

"How do you know all this?"

Bitterness twists my mouth into a harsh line, and I bite out a sharp laugh that reverberates off the walls, "You sure you wanna know? It ain't a pretty tale."

At that moment, both Remus and Sirius walk into the room, with Hermione in tow. When they see me on the table, their jaws drop and they rush over.

"What happened?"

"Did something attack you? Another boggart?"

"There was a boggart?!"

I hold up my hand. Rapid talking not helping the rock band residing in my brain.

"Stop," I pause, shooting a quick glance at Hermione.

Dumbledore must see my look because he interrupts quietly, "Miss Granger, why don't you help Mr. Weasley in tidying the room for Harry's arrival?"

The look she gives us is so classic-Dawn that I have to bottle my snickers. The narrowed eyebrows, frowning mouth, cheeks flaming with indignation...even the gleam in her eye is suspicious. But while Dawnie would have thrown a tantrum, Hermione merely replied a short, "Yes, sir" before turning to leave.

Once the thick wooden door quietly clicks shut, the tension in the room seems to creep up. Sirius is furtively glaring at Snape, while the other is pointedly ignoring him.

"Remus, Sirius," I start, "just tune in. You'll probably be able to piece everything out in the end."

"As you know, I'm the Slayer, the one in all the world. But the Fates have others lined up, of course. Hundreds of girls around the globe, waiting for me to die, so they can take their place as the Slayer."

"Of course, I _did_ die. Twice, actually," I say nonchalantly. The words keep flowing out of my mouth, a never-ending stream. It's not really registering, like I'm telling someone else's boring biography. To talk of my death like it's an everyday occurrence, it never used to be this simple. I just hope I don't spill everything...

"But you don't need to know my reasons for that," I glimpse quickly at Snape, and he knows that this is the sacrifice that we talked of.

"The First, as I said earlier, is absolute evil. He is what demons, sin, even Voldemort spawns from. The total opposite of the Light, of what I have fought for eight years.

"The first time I encountered it, it was through Harbingers, Bringers of Death. The First always acts through vessels, it is too sheer a power to be in one state of its own. It haunted my," I hesitate slightly, "my friend, driving him near insane by taking on the form of people from his past, taunting him."

_It wasn't haunting._

_It was showing me._

_What I am._

_I wish that I wished you dead._

"We managed to defeat it, and life went on as usual," another bitter smile, "well, as usual as life can be in Sunnydale. It wasn't until a few months ago that it returned."

"The First was killing off Potentials - Slayers, that is," I add quickly, seeing confusion starting to mask everyone's faces, "And this isn't making any sense, is it?"

Remus and Sirius shake their heads. Molly seems puzzled, but doesn't say anything. Snape's face is his usual cold mask, but Dumbledore seems to be pondering over something.

"Keep going, my dear," he says kindly, but there are a lot of wheels turning rapidly in his head.

"Well, no one really needs to know the story of the Potentials, but as usual, there's always betrayal, suffering and the never-ending loss against a big bad," I sigh, "we tried, and my friends came out okay, but some didn't."

Memories...God, I know they'll never leave. But I don't want to remember Anya this way, imagining her being killed Bringer. I want to picture her smiles, her crude remarks, her innocence in this world despite her age. The Potentials... Annabelle, Cassie...And Spike...oh God, Spike...

_I love you._

_No you don't._

_But thanks for saying it._

Shaking my head slightly, I continue, "The First's vessel this time was Caleb, a former priest gone wrong. He merged with The First, and his power was incredible. And that's not even mentioning the Turok-Han..."

"I lost," I stop, breaths coming out more ragged than I realise, "I lost too much against it, and now it's back. I had to destroy everything, and now it's back."

Finally, it's done. The pain of the past few months comes washing over me, rolling and rolling, and spinning me around until I think I can't breathe, or think, or live. The quiet in the room is deafening, and I idly wonder how many more times I'll be lying here on the kitchen table.

By the time I leave this world, it'll be my best friend. Next to Mr. Pointy, of course.

"But you're here," Sirius mumbles, a deep shadow on his face like nothing I have seen on him before, "you survived the evil."

I nod slowly, "Yeah, I'm here. But I would have sacrificed again for them. To keep them here, to enjoy the freedom they were so close to tasting."

"But it's never enough, is it?" I ask, looking at both Snape and Sirius. Their black eyes meet mine and they are heavy and dark with suffering, "Not even your life can bring them back from the dead."

The moment is loudly interrupted when Tonks, the silver-haired man with the creepy spinning eye, another man I remembered as Shacklebolt, and five other people file into the kitchen. The room seems tinier than usual.

"All ready, sir," Tonks chirps brightly, and her now violet-shade hair contrasts dimly with the burning embers from the fire.

"Good, Nymphadora," Dumbledore replies quietly.

_Nymphadora?_ I look at Tonks, and catch her give a small shudder of revulsion at the name. I giggle silently, understanding completely. I can never imagine myself as an 'Elizabeth', except to my mother.

"What's going on?" I ask curiously. The group that trudged in is cloaked darkly, as if on a mission.

"Operation: Rescue Harry Potter," Tonks grins cheekily, "We're the Advance Guard. Want to come?"

I look at Dumbledore, all thoughts of the headache and The First gone for the moment. I hope there's gonna be some good ass-kicking on this trip. God knows I need it.

He chuckles lightly, but I hear an undertone in it. He's very worried about The First; he should be.

"Yes, join the Advance Guard, Miss Summers. It will give you a perfect opportunity to finally meet Mr. Potter."

Tonks has a bright grin on her face, and it's absolutely infectious.


	15. Operation: RHP

Heading back to my room, I notice that my body has begun to feel at ease in this house, as if it's accustomed to the darkness, the evil. There's no more prickling sensations at the base of my neck, no more sudden chills that run through me, no more goosebumps.

It worries me...like when I first discovered of the primeval wicked that my being stems from. I'm growing into the darkness that thrives here, but I'm a Champion for the Light, aren't I? The Slayer, born to kill, born to die, born to save the world. _Buffy Summers_, born to kill, born to die, born to save the world. I've seen the headstone that the gang put up after my death, and it still scares me that I was six feet under. I vividly remember the scrambling, the screaming, the silence that strangled me, the dirt that stung my eyes and my throat...

"Buffy? Are you alright?"

I whirl around a bit too quickly, and my foot slips onto the step below. Sirius is standing next to me, and his hand darts out to grab my arm as my foot slides. I realise that I've stopped in the middle of the staircase.

"Yeah," I reply, shaking my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts, "yeah, I'm fine."

He regards me with deep, searching eyes, as if he knows I'm lying. Maybe I'm a pathological liar...wouldn't that add a bit more colour to my Slayer résumé. The words just tumble out and it piles up, lie after lie. I'm such a deceitful person, lying to my friends, my family. I'm worthless, I should have stayed in that coffin and suffocated to death..._what am I saying?_

"Buffy," Sirius says, "Buffy!"

"Wha-?" I reply, blinking. His hands have come up to grasp my shoulders, and he's shaking me slightly.

"What happened?"

I don't know what happened. It's like something deep inside's awoken...maybe my conscience, after all these years. God, what's wrong with me?

_It's wrong._

_I'm wrong._

Tell me that I'm wrong...please... 

"Buffy, maybe you shouldn't go out with the Guard tonight," Sirius starts to say, frowning deeply.

"No!" I snap, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm just..."

"Just what?" he asks, releasing his hands from my shoulders.

Cool air hits them and small goosebumps rise. I hold in the need to shiver.

"Nothing," I mumble, turning to head back up the stairs, "nothing, I'm fine."

"Don't do this to yourself, Buffy," Sirius calls after me, "We can see you're hurting. Let us help."

A deep burning flares up in me unbidden, and I can feel the rage boil under my skin. Trembling slightly, I spin quickly, holding his eyes with my blazing ones.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with me, you don't even know me! Just stay out of my life," I hiss, turning and running up the rest of the stairs and across the landing until I reach my room.

To my great relief, Sirius does not follow, and I lean heavily on the wooden door. Darkness seeps in around me from the corridor, and I shut my eyes. Flashes of images from being in the L.A.'s institution burn brightly in front of me. Sterile white gown, strapped to the bed, mum, dad, it's not real...

What's happening? What's wrong with me?

Why can't I stop? 

_Please don't..._

Please don't forgive me... 

"GET OUT! GET OUT!" I moan, clenching my hair in fists.

It's in me, I know it.

"I defeated you! Leave me the Hell alone! I DEFEATED YOU!"

Quiet. I gasp for breath, God just leave me alone. Just leave me alone...

I swear I hear a whisper of _Never..._ It chills me to the bone, and I'm shaking strongly as I slide to the ground, tears of frustration leaking out.

--------------------------------------------------

"Ready, Buffy?" Tonks asks brightly as she peeks round the door I left slightly ajar.

"Yup," I say, grabbing one dagger and sliding it into my waistband. Looking up, her violet hair is the first thing that catches my eye, and I give her a small grin while pulling my own blonde locks into a messy ponytail.

"You'll be sharing a broom with me," she tells me with a cheeky smile as we head out the door, "the others don't want another passenger with them."

"Geez, way to make me feel wanted," I say with a roll of my eyes.

Tonks giggles and we walk down to the main hallway. The rest of the Guard is already there, standing impatiently with broomsticks in their hands. I do a double take. When Tonks said I was sharing a broom with her, I thought it was just some wizard-babble for some other transport. I didn't realise she meant it _literally_.

"Woah," I mumble, as we come to stand with the rest of the group.

They're like how I always imagined them in fairytales, except much cleaner – polished brown wood that reflects the feeble light from the gas lamps on the walls and thick and shapely straw that forms the sweeper, wrapped with twine. As Tonks picks hers up, I spot a gold carving in the wood as the yellow light just glints off it: _Comet Two Sixty_.

Remus gives a small chuckle before we head out the door, me in the middle behind Tonks. Everyone seems to move very quietly, and then I remember the screaming portrait in the hallway.

Once we step out into the haphazard lawn, dried grass crunching beneath our feet, I see the creepy guy with the spinning eye take out a silver cigarette lighter and point it to the faint streetlights. I stare as with a pop, one in the distance extinguishes.

"That's Mad-Eye Moody," Tonks says quietly to me, as if reading my mind, "and that's a Put-Outer. Says he borrowed it from Dumbledore. I still reckon he stole it."

I nod, still mildly transfixed at the cool un-lighter he's using to put out the streetlamps. They go out in quick succession, but he stops at the one just five metres away. Only a very dim glow comes from it, but the bright light from the moon still allows me to see everyone's faces. It's a clear night.

Then I notice a wizard standing off to one side, not holding a broom. I look closer, and realise that it's Sirius, but he has a dark cloak covering his entire face and body. Remus is murmuring quietly to Mad-Eye Moody, so I sneak over.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I whisper.

He merely shrugs, and doesn't answer. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Did I hurt him that much?

"Why aren't you coming with us?" I ask, brushing back a few strands of hair that I left to dangle.

Speaking in a deep undertone that sends shivers up my spine, he replies, "This is as close as Dumbledore will let me leave the house. I'm sending off your signals once you get to Harry's place."

Confusion flares up in me. Why can't he leave the house? And why is he speaking so quietly? I'm about to ask him, when Remus calls us over. I cast one quick glance to Sirius before walking back to Tonks. Everyone's standing in a circle, and I look on in curiousity at what Moody's doing now.

He's holding his wand above Remus, and suddenly raps it on his head. Immediately, Remus starts to turn invisible. Wait, not invisible, because I can still see the shape of his body. He's just transparent.

Uber-cool.

"It's a Disillusionment charm," Tonks explains, "It makes you a sort of human chameleon, so that the Muggles can't see us."

"Knowing my luck with magic mojo," I mutter, "It'll probably turn me into a lizard. And what's a Moogle, anyway?"

Tonks gives me an odd look, but Moody is soon standing in front of me. I wait for his charm, and stare right back at him, who looks a bit surprised at my defiance. What's the biggie about a spinning eye? He does look weird anyway, but I've seen worse. Like Giles wearing a sombrero. Oh, the horror.

He lifts the wand above my head and taps it lightly. A disgusting feeling of egg being cracked on my head distracts me. It's horrible, and I look up, but realise that I can't see the usual strands of hair. I look down, and only see the usual ground.

This is like Alex Mack! Only without the radioactive puddle of goo part.

When Remus says, "Mount your brooms", I follow Tonks and climb on the back. I'm surprised that it's not that uncomfortable. I only have to adjust slightly, and as I grip the broom in the space between Tonks and I, the others start to hover slightly.

"Ready?" Tonks asks with an excited grin.

"Always," I reply. I wonder at the seriousness of my tone – a few years ago, I would have been squealing at the thought of riding a broom. Now, it doesn't seem so extraordinary. Cool, yes, but not as remarkable as I think it should be.

The ground's left my feet, and Tonks makes sure that we're in the middle of the group. She's going a bit slowly, for my benefit, I think.

"I think that beetle down there's beating us," I yell with a laugh through the strong winds.

She glares at me and immediately presses her body forward, sending us zooming ahead. It's an exhilarating feeling...if only we had brooms in Sunnydale. It would've made patrolling much more fun. Not to mention staking...I can imagine impaling a vamp on a pointy end of a broom...

Remus is at the head of the group, and he's yelling something, but he's too far in front for me to hear. I ask Tonks what he said, but she just shrugs. Looking down, I can see sparkling lights off to the side, and the dark shadows of houses and roofs. I also notice that Remus is preventing us from flying directly over the towns. Probably so those Moogles can't see us. I wonder if they're some sort of demon. The cabbie that dropped me off at Grimmauld Place mentioned them too. Or maybe they're mutant wizards.

Occasionally, we fly through a tiny puff of cloud, and the temperature drops, giving me the chills. Soon, Tonks yells that we're nearing Harry's place. My hands and ears are starting to freeze, and I curse for not wearing something warmer than a T-shirt. There are more clouds now, and I can tell that the group is trying to avoid them. Suddenly, Tonks dips the broom, and we're following the group in descending.

It isn't until now that I realise that some of the other wizards and witches have been swapping positions, like bodyguards. I give a quick glance back, to see if we're being followed. But there's nothing there. Talk about paranoid.

Now I can see detailed rooftops, and streetlamps lighting the street. Tonks is slowing down, and eventually, my ears pop as we sink down onto a soft lawn in front of a row of English houses.

Dismounting the broom, I look around and it's creepy how every house is _identical_. I mean, they've even got it down to the same number of cars in each driveway.

"Stay quiet," Remus whispers to us, "we have to break in and take Harry. Keep your wands out in case just in case. Those Dursleys shouldn't be home yet if Tonks' plan worked."

Tonks gives a little grumble of indignation, but follows Remus' orders. Not that I have a wand, but Remus' look tells me that the same rule applies to my fists.

The group creeps around to the side, but stops in front of a side door. Moody and Remus are up the front, whispering furiously, over how to enter I bet. I'm cold, and I want into the house, so I march up between the two, shove them lightly aside and punch my hand through the window.

The stained glass immediately shatters, but I withdraw my hand just as quickly as I pushed it in, and only come up with a couple of scratches. Turning around, I smirk as Moody looks at me approvingly, but Remus glares. I turn back and stick my hand in, fumbling for the doorknob. With a click, it opens, and I step in, trying not to crunch on too much glass.

Even with the rest of them following through into what looks like the kitchen, I distinctly hear the sound of a door being open upstairs.

"Someone's awake up there," I say to Remus. No point in being quiet now – we would waken the whole house with the glass shattering.

He's still a bit peeved, but nods, "Hopefully Harry, and no one else."

Remus pushes past me and into a hallway. I wait till the others follow before hurrying over to the sink and turning the tap on lightly, running my slightly wounded hand under it. The cold water is incredibly relieving.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," I can hear Moody growl.

An uncertain young voice replies, and I presume it's Harry Potter. Walking out, I'm mindful of Dumbledore's parting words...

"You may feel a strong connection with Harry, Miss Summers," he warned me, "He has been in close contact with Voldemort before. Your link with The First may awake evil ties between the two of you, as both Voldemort and The First's hosts. Be wary."

The group is crowded in the hallway, still in the dark. Then suddenly a flash of light appears, lighting the room with surprisingly bright light.

Even from the back, I can see him because he's still on the stairs – tall, deep black hair, crooked glasses, and an unusual lightning bolt scar, visible even from this distance. He looks muddled and surprised; I can't blame him. I'd probably be mighty pissed if I was woken, especially with my intention to die young and stay pretty.

I keep silent in my spot, watching amusedly as the others bicker. Suddenly he looks up, and catches my eye. He gasps, and everything goes quiet.

"You're the girl in my dream!" he exclaims.

I blink and moments of silence pass where everyone's heads are turning back and forth between us. It's only now that I can see his startling green eyes.

I slowly raise an eyebrow, "Didn't see that one coming."


	16. Prophecy Boy

A silence creeps up once again between me and the boy with sparkling green eyes, like a solid barrier that's stopping an endless stream of words from pouring out of our mouths. The odd sensation in my chest is spreading to my fingertips, and it feels amazing. My eyes are still locked on the black-haired boy, and I can tell that he's feeling the same way.

"You're the Slayer," he says in a heavily accented voice, still musty from sleep.

"The one and only," I reply, but pause for a second thought, "well, that was until someone upstairs screwed up in the Calling sector."

He gives a light chuckle, descending the stairs and I watch as the other wizards and witches part, looking on in slight confusion. When he comes to stand in front of me, I see that he's dressed in cute striped pajamas, crumpled from sleep and his black hair is a rumpled mess on top of his head. Despite his age, he's still slightly taller than me.

"You'd think they cut me some slack in the height department," I comment, tilting my head up slightly.

His hand comes up between us, an introduction that's not needed. There's an unexplainable tie binding us, maybe to do with being hosts of evil once, or maybe the Powers have finally decided to pitch in a hand. Either way, there's a comfort that I seem to be seeking out in him, and it achingly reminds me of the same bond between the Scoobies in high school. My solid ground. Maybe this boy is what will finally stop the screwy things the First is doing with my mind.

"Harry Potter," he says with a grin, his hand still extended.

"Buffy Summers," I reply with a smile of my own, taking his offer, and firmly shaking it, "resident Vampire Slayer."

No weird mojo happens when we clasp hands, and for that I'm glad. There'd probably be a bit of explaining to do if fireworks suddenly erupted from us.

Letting go, Harry continues, "I know. Like I said, I've seen you in a dream. It's sort of creepy. You're dressed in a white dress with red flowers and you're in a desert of some sort."

This scene sounds too familiar and my fears are being confirmed. The First Slayer never turns up unless something big like the First appears. I'm only surprised that I wasn't the one getting the prophetic dreams.

"Then this prehistoric woman attacks you out of nowhere. I try to help, but then there's this quicksand that sucks me in. I panic because I can't find my wand, and then you're there, and pulling me out. You tell me that you're not _Miss Muffet_ any more, and turn around."

Goosebumps have started to rise on my skin from the cold, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the chill that's risen up inside too. There's something wrong with the picture he's painting.

"You begin to walk away, but then that woman appears again with a wicked looking dagger and stabs you in the stomach. You clutch it, and my memory starts to fade about now," Harry says with a slightly apologetic tone, although his eyes are still focused on me in curiousity.

"Your hair begins to flicker to a dark brown, and when you turn around to face me, there's a different girl standing there, in a pink dress instead. The blood stain that you got spreads really quickly, and the two of you flicker in and out, changing bodies."

"And then I wake up," he ends.

There's a sickly sensation swelling at the bottom of my stomach. I have a feeling that my past and the First are even more tangled in this world that anyone realises.

There's a small quiet in the stairway. A few people have started talking to Harry in undertones while I've been standing here, desperately trying to grasp the extent of the situation.

"We need to leave," I say, catching Remus' attention, "I need to see Dumbledore immediately."

Nodding swiftly, he looks out the window, "We need to wait for the signal, Buffy."

I hold back a sigh of annoyance, but am distracted by the sudden hisses that a few wizards make. Moody growls out a '_shut up!_', and with a odd squelch, pops out his spinning eye. My mouth twists in a small grimace. I watch as Harry grabs a glass of water from the dishwasher in the kitchen, my mind trailing off in different directions.

As we continue to wait, I lean heavily against a wall, and run a hair through my messy ponytail, yanking the old hair tie off. I shut my eyes briefly as I pull the knotty hair into a bun. I feel Remus come and stand next to me.

"Is everything alright?" he asks softly.

"I'll be lying if I say no," I remark casually, trying to throw off the danger of the situation until I have a chat to Dumbledore, "but let's just say my beeper hasn't gone off for an Apocalypse, yet."

Remus eyes me carefully, but his attention is drawn away when another wizard reminds him of a letter he needs to leave for the Dursleys. He turns towards the kitchen, whipping out a piece of paper and quill from his dark robes.

Tonks and Harry come back down, his broom and suitcase floating just in front of them. I also notice that Tonks' hair is back to being bright pink. I raise an eyebrow, but don't comment. By now, everyone has made themselves slightly more comfortable in the house: Moody replacing his spinning eye, which is moving like it's possessed, two wizards are inspecting a microwave, and another witch is having a great time examining a potato peeler she's managed to rummage up.

Harry looks slightly bemused at the Guards' fascination with the appliances in the house, but I can see his face drops slightly when he sees Remus sealing the envelope addressed to the Dursleys.

A sense of pity wells up in me, because I could never imagine leaving Dawnie with caretakers like Harry's, who, I realise now, shares the same losses as my sister and I...no mum or dad, isolated from others because of our destiny and we've all seen enough evil to last more than one lifetime. I watch as he nervously steps up to be Disillusioned by Moody, and I remember Hermione and Ron back at Grimmauld Place. They've even got their own Scooby gang here...

It's odd how so many things here parallel _my_ world. It can't be a coincidence.

We're mounting the brooms, and I look around for Tonks. But apparently she's got another passenger...Harry's suitcase. It's swinging slightly as she hovers just above the ground.

"Glad to know I'm easily replaceable," I say, raising an eyebrow at the bubblegum hair coloured girl.

"Anytime," she replies cheekily, throwing me a wink.

Great, now who's the lucky person who I get to hitch a ride with? Not Moody, not Remus, no, not her, or him...

I see a broom, standing suspiciously straight on the ground, and realise that it's Harry who's holding it. Squinting to catch the outline of his body, I sneak up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. He swerves around and I give him what I hope, looks like a mix between a pleading and enchanting grin.

"Mind if I hop on with you?"

"Sure," he says cheerfully, and just at that moment, a bright shower of red sparks fills the sky in the distance.

As I wait for him to mount his broom, he suddenly stops, and the broom doesn't move.

"What's wrong?" I ask. The rest of the group has already mounted their brooms, and are waiting.

"Maybe you should sit in the front," he says in an undertone, "just so to make it look like you're the one who's actually riding the broom."

I look at him incredulously, "You know that I have absolutely _no_ idea how to ride this thing, right?"

I can faintly see the outline of his head move as he nods, "It'll be alright. I'll direct from the back."

I give the broom a skeptical look, but don't protest. I can already hear Remus grumbling about lost time. Mounting the broom that Harry's still holding, I slide up to the front, and adjust slightly as I feel his weight follow behind me.

I'm grasping the front of the broom tightly, and for the first time in a long while, there's a nervous drumming inside my chest from fear of flying this thing. Harry's hands follow up from behind to grasp the section of broom just between my body and hands, his arms securely wrapping me.

Narrowing my eyes slightly, I spin my head back slightly, "Hey, don't get any ideas, buster."

He merely laughs before taking off once a green shower of sparks illuminates the night sky.


	17. Miss Tuffet

By now my hands have grown numb, either from the icy wind that cuts through as we fly, or the fact that I've gripped the broom hard enough to fear it splintering. In the distance, I can see faint bobs of light and am slightly warmed when Harry adjusts his grip on the handle, rubbing new warmth into my arms.

Thoughts of hot chocolate, a snug blanket and Mr. Gordo fill my mind as a particularly chilly wind whips up, blowing my hair out of the bun I messily tied it into. Moody's gruff voice filters through for a moment, and I have to strongly resist the urge to throw a fit when he says we should double back. Fortunately, Tonks covers that for me.

"ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" she screams from her broom, and I feel Harry wince when he sees his trunk swing precariously at the back.

As we start to dive, however, a feeling of unease starts to creep up across my shoulders, prickling the hairs. Not wanting to put Harry off, I assume that it's just the _fact_ that we're doing such a nose-dive in mid-air that's worrying me. I can see the ground start to hurtle towards us, and pray that Harry is as good a flyer as they say he is.

Through the blurriness fogging up my eyes, I can tell individual streetlamps and rooftops apart now. My thighs are cold and sore, and I really can't wait till we touchdown. Just ahead of us, Tonks lands gracefully, and just before Harry touches the ground, I've already jumped off and am shaking out my limbs on the familiar crunchy grass, trying to bring back some warmth.

Suddenly a tingle zooms up my spine, and I narrowly dive to the right to dodge a bolt of green.

On the ground, I yell, "EVERYONE DOWN!"

Looking over, I see Tonks lying flat just next to the neighbouring fence, her bright hair slowly turning black while she fishes out her wand from deep robes. Turning back, I see a group of five black-robed figures advancing towards us, and I'm worried that they'll find where the House is. Then I remember how the House had squeezed in only when I actually _thought_ about the address, and I give a sly smirk as I stand up.

"Y'know, green was never my colour," I quip, ignoring fierce hisses of protest from Remus behind me.

The cloaked figures are illuminated by the streetlights as they stand in one line. Suddenly a slight tilt of a hooded head gives a flash of silver from underneath, and I narrow my eyes. So, he's back.

By now, I feel the rest of the team reinforcing my back, and I hope that Harry has dove somewhere safe, and isn't in the fight. Dumbledore will kill me himself if Harry's hurt after all this.

"There's no escape this time, Slayer," a familiar menacing tone glides across the lawn, from the figure I caught a flash of silver eyes from.

Cocking one hip, I drawl back, "You'll have to catch me then, won't you?"

I launch at him quickly, tackling his legs and bringing him down onto the cement road with a loud thud. While flipping back up, I see the rest of the team handling the other intruders with ease, especially with so many of us. But this fight is between silver-eyed guy and me.

He has his wand pointed, and I can hear a litany of spells muttered under his breath. Rapid bolts of green start to fire, and I flip forwards, remembering Giles' words of centering self onto the ground, and knowing where the enemies attacks are. Feeling where the disturbance of air is, I avoid the strikes he sends and continue flipping until I land in front of him and deliver a solid kick to his chest that sends him flying down the street.

Quickly sprinting after him, I barely miss a shot of green he throws from the ground, and it manages to sting me on my forearm. Hissing at the burning sensation, a new anger burns inside me and I prowl towards him.

"You _really_ shouldn't have messed with me," I growl out, leaning over and stepping on his wand hand, twisting until I hear a sharp hiss from him.

"You are dealing with a Slayer, here, and are way out of league," I continue, grabbing his robes and pulling him to just below eye-level. The hood of his robe falls back, revealing creepy platinum blonde hair and those disturbing silver eyes.

"So why don't you run back to your _Lord,_ and tell him that the Slayer says this: he is in for one hell of an ass-kicking when I find him."

I shove him back, but not before delivering a fierce punch to the face. I see a faint trickle of blood ooze from a broken lip, and a gruesome smile twists his face.

"You'll regret this, Slayer," he spits out, a horrid trail of blood following, "Lord Voldemort is powered by beings beyond your reckoning. He's waiting for you, and he _will_ take what he wants."

Vicious anger bubbles under my skin, and I punch him again in the face. He merely twists his head back and wipes away the blood smeared across his mouth with his sleeve.

"_She's waiting for her Tuffet, and counting down from 7-3-0._ Watch your back, Slayer," he sneers before disappearing with a loud crack.

I stand there for a few seconds, his parting words lingering dangerously in my head. There's something there...I know what this all means, but...

"Buffy, are you alright?" Remus asks as he runs up to me.

"Yeah, talk about getting the job done," Tonks says, following up from behind, curiously eyeing the spot where the guy had Disapparated.

Then it clicks.

_What is wrong with you?_

_Gee, if doing a little violence to vampires upsets you, I think you're in the wrong line of work._

_Yeah, or maybe you like it a little too much._

_I was getting the job done..._

..._I was getting the job done..._

Oh God, Faith...

"I need to talk to Dumbledore. _Now_," I say hurriedly, racing off back to number 12.


	18. Parts of the Puzzle

I find that the shabby looking Number 12 has appeared, and as I race up to it, I faintly hear the crunching of scorched grass under my feet. Looking down briefly, I can spot faint traces of smoke still rising from the charred lawn, and a pungent smell reaches me. Wrinkling my nose, I rap on the door and brush past an anxious-looking Sirius, not giving him time to talk as he opens the door. A piercing screech immediately swamps the space between us.

"Where's Dumbledore?" I yell, grimacing at the wailing portrait.

"Order," he mouths over the noise, shooting an exasperated glare towards the noisy painting.

Walking briskly down the corridor, I barely catch a glimpse of Harry in the kitchen, being tended to by a few people. His eyes flick to mine just as I hurry past the dim entry, and a comforting sense of reassurance warms the tips of my fingers.

As I reach the heavy door, I knock twice and push it open. Once again, the room is brightly lit, and I blink quickly to readjust from the dark hallways of the mansion. Standing with his back to me is Dumbledore at the other end of the room; weirdly, he seems to be talking to a wall.

I clear my throat, and watch as the old wizard mutters a few words and turns around to face me. My mind is a jumble of thoughts, all of which I need to seek his advice on.

"Miss Summers, take a seat," he says, seating himself down at the head of the table.

As I walk to the other end of the long, richly coloured table of wood, I try to sort out and piece together everything that is zooming around in my mind. The pain, the memories, the cryptic messages...

"You need to return," Dumbledore says gently, before I even speak.

Without realising, I've seated myself in the chair to Dumbledore's right, and his bright gaze shines with immense knowledge. Perhaps the wizard knows more than I've given him credit for.

"Faith was my sister-Slayer," I begin slowly, trying to match chunks of facts together, "and while we guarded the Hellmouth together, she fell in with the darker side of Sunnydale. I think the First is going to play on her weaknesses, and try to bring her back to the other side."

Dumbledore does not respond, but I notice that his wrinkled fingers are clasped in the shape of a gun, his index fingers resting on the bridge of his nose, slightly pushing his glasses up. Fine lines gather in the middle of his brow as he sits in deep thought, wistfully reminding me of Giles and the days the Scooby gang spent in research.

Brushing the stray thoughts from my mind, I continue, saying, "The messages that I've been having –_Miles to go, Little Ms. Muffet counting down from 7-3-0..._this isn't the first time I've heard them."

Dumbledore's gaze flicks briefly towards me before resettling in a calm, hazy gaze towards the other end of the table.

"There was a time where I was on the verge of death," my voice growing thick with memory and emotion, "and Faith gave me the chance to live again, warning me of the future with those words."

I never could remember that dream with Faith. Even after Graduation, when everything was over, and my slaying routine had settled back. Fleeting images did pass sometimes: the shattered window which we fell out of, a cat, the blood-stained dagger...but never enough for me to piece together exactly what she had warned me about.

That's why it was too late for me to do anything, 730 days after Graduation. Too late for me to save Dawn from the pain of Glory, too late for me to realise what my Gift was, too late to save myself.

And of course, too late to see the final end.

_Scar tissue._

_It fades._

_It all fades._

Decision quickly implants itself in my mind, and turning determined eyes towards the wizard, I say, "I need to go back."

He nods his head gravely, "Do what you must to keep the First and Voldemort from advancing. Protect your friend, bring her back here if you must."

A wave of relief floods my mind, though it's odd that I questioned Dumbledore's acceptance to help in the first place. I settle my tense back into the back of the ornately carved wooden chair, feeling the gaps of wood press into the small of my back. We spend the next few minutes organising a Portkey and available backup aid, but parts of my mind drift off into secluded thought.

Despite all of my self-assurances that retrieving Faith won't be a difficult task, there is a small part of me that's hesitant. That Death Eater seemed to be giving out information too willingly, as if they're _expecting_ me to bring Faith back. Is that their plan? For me to do all the work and give them access to corrupt her on their own turf? Am I walking into an obvious trap?

Dumbledore peers at me intently over his moon-shaped glasses, and freakishly seems to read my thoughts.

"There are always doubts that the enemy is one step ahead of us, Miss Summers," he says with strong tones of well-learnt wisdom, "and in many cases, especially this one, we have no choice but to trust our instincts."

It seems like he's speaking from a harsh experience, and a brief thought wonders if Harry has anything to do with this. Dumbledore's robes rustle slightly as he shifts back slightly in his chair, his arms settling on the arm rests.

"I've called for a meeting of the Order to inform them of our suspicions and plans. We will need to organise a Guard when you collect Miss Faith."

I give a little snort at that, imagining Faith's reaction with the title _Miss_ in front of her name.

Then the door creaks open, and a file of wizards and witches stream in, seating themselves around the table. Looking around, I spot Snape as he glides in, a severe frown on his face. Looking like his mouth worked at a lemon farm doesn't help his intimidation factor. Then again, maybe he _volunteered_ to work at mentioned lemon farm. Trusting his personality, that would be most likely.

My gaze wanders around, finding a slightly limping Tonks, who looks in desperate need of a rest. Her hair is still black, and a shiver runs through me as I recall her hair change. Just like Willow...

Sirius walks in last, shutting the door behind him and standing in the corner.

"I have called you here tonight to discuss the revelation of crucial evidence that is playing a part in Miss Summer's brief return to her home," Dumbledore says with a grim tone, several faces like Snape's and Sirius' whipping around with surprise.

Suddenly Dumbledore's eyes are on me, beckoning me to talk. As he sits back down, the amused glint in his eye has returned, and I scowl at him as I'm forced to stand and speak. Damn it...I hate improvising.

Sighing with a hint of frustration, I start, "I've mentioned before that I'm not the only Slayer walking the planet now, but a few years before my friends and I activated the Chosen around the world, I had a close sister-Slayer."

"The recent attacks and some prophetic messages I've experienced have given a strong warning of my friend being in extreme danger. I think she's been selected by Voldemort and our new enemy, the First, to even the odds out by having a Slayer on each side."

Looking around, I can plainly see skepticism on some of their faces. I need to convince them, need to make them realise what they're really getting into. Hardening my thoughts, I continue.

"I am not about to let my friend be taken by _your_ enemy, and trust me, it's not good having a Slayer on the other side," I say, my eyes narrowed just a fraction, "I speak from experience when I say that a Slayer on the other side becomes a pure killing machine. Faith has as much power as I do, and that means that the enemy wants her just as badly."

I stop to take a breath, and let what I've said sink in. If it's possible, the faces all around me seem to have sunk further.

I continue quietly, "Voldemort has allied with the First, the ultimate enemy that I have faced and the one that destroyed my home. It will stop at _nothing_ to see both worlds being reigned by evil."

"So now, I need a team: a support Guard that will return with me to fetch my friend. This group will be based on volunteers only," I say.

After a few seconds, four hands immediately rise in the air, belonging to Snape, Tonks, Remus, and surprisingly, Bill Weasley. Grinning, I look around.

"Anyone else?"

Seeing three of their best wizards raise their hands must motivate most of the rest who volunteer. After a minute or so, I pick up another five names. Looking to the corner, I see Sirius with a deep frown on his face. I can only imagine his frustration at not being able to leave.

Shortly after, Dumbledore adjourns the meeting, and I gather the team that is returning with me.

"Okay, thanks for volunteering," I say as they gather around me in a circle, "we're leaving for Cleveland by a Portkey that Dumbledore will be organising. We leave early tomorrow morning to allow for the time change and give us ample time in case we are attacked."

I look them all each in the eye with a firm expression as I continue, "I have been placed in charge by Dumbledore, and expect that you listen to my instructions. I doubt that most of you have ever been to America, so that makes me the expert in this situation."

"I only plan to do a quick pick-up, but you guys are here in case Voldemort plans a surprise attack, which I have a suspicion that he might," I say, finishing up, "any formations or codes that you Aurors might have are up to you. Just be sure to get back alive should an attack come. Any questions?"

"Is she as hot as you?" Bill asks with a grin, breaking the tense atmosphere. Taut laughter circles round, with the exception of Snape evilly glaring at the redhead.

"Let's just say she _had_ a real appetite for men," I reply with a wink, "but sorry, Bill, she's already taken."

He dramatically exaggerates his heart breaking, drawing laughter from both Tonks and I, before his face brightens.

"But you're still available, right?" he asks with mixture of mischief and flirtation in his voice.

"Dream on, Carrot-Top," I answer loftily with a smirk.

As the group breaks up with soft murmuring, I realise that Sirius is still standing in the corner. As I walk closer to him, I recognise a familiar gaze he has that I saw on both Angel and Riley's faces when they met in my dorm at college. Is Sirius jealous?

"What are you still doing here?" I ask, aware of the frown he still has.

"Nothing," he responds, the look fading slightly, "just waiting for you."

I look at him a fraction longer, making him shuffle slightly under my stare. How can he possibly be jealous of anything? I've only known him for a few days...I shake off the feeling. There's more important stuff to think about than an impending love life.

"Sirius, Dumbledore said we needed an anchor for the Portkey because of the number of people leaving," I say, watching the way his gaze flits slightly to Bill and his eyes narrows as he leaves the room, "I know you hate being stuck in this house, but there's not much else I can do."

His response comes a few seconds later, "I'll do anything to help."

"Great," I answer, a smile on my face as he seems to redden under my attention.

This can't be good. My Pet Project has developed a crush on me.


	19. Plate of Cheese

Sirius' conspicuous glances are making me feel slightly uneasy; because my Slayer senses annoyingly heighten the sensation of his stares, I can feel them even more strongly, and start to worry that maybe I should say something before I leave.

The Portkey has been arranged: a small, insignificant-looking wooden box that I would have passed without a second glance in a trinket store. It's about the size of my fist and made of a bland-coloured wood with no lid or opening. It's sitting on the kitchen table and everyone's careful to keep a good radius of space around it in case they get zapped to Oz. I start to softly drum an inane beat with my fingers on the side of the chair that I'm sitting on as we wait for one more wizard, a man named Mundungus.

"Probably getting drunk under a table," Snape mutters with a strong tone of loathing as he paces the floor.

"At the rate you're going, I wouldn't be surprised if you fell through the floor," I comment with a grin at his annoyed pacing, pretending to be carefully examining the polish on my fingernails as his head snaps up with an irritated growl.

Snickers come from the corner, and I tilt my head slightly to find Sirius laughing at Snape.

"At least I'm not chained to the house like a _dog_," he bites back at Sirius, whose face quickly contorts with anger and starts to step forward, his hand inching towards a pocket in his robes.

"Hey, calm down," I say, stepping in with a frown, "Fighting not allowed while I'm on duty."

The two men eye me carefully before retreating back to their spots, Snape continuing to slowly pace the floor again.

"Damn," Bill mutters with a smirk as he walks up to me, "Way to take the fun out of life. I was looking forward to a good duel."

"Yeah, that's me," I respond, grinning, "Fun-sucker."

I notice that everyone's dressed in black, full-length robes, looking like an extended version of the Addams Family. At least I don't have to worry about them blending into the dark.

Suddenly a haggard man stumbles into the kitchen, and even from this distance, I can see that his eyes look like they've had the life sucked out of them. Hey, maybe there's a business for this...fun-sucker, life-sucker...whoa, let's not keep going down there...

"I'm 'ere," the man I'm assuming is Mundungus says shakily, "We all set?"

I walk over and look at him carefully. He reeks of smoke, and looks like he's about to keel over any minute. I don't remember him being in this shape yesterday.

"Mundungus, right?" I ask him with concern, "You look like you rolled out on the wrong side of bed and all the way down the stairs."

"Nah, I'm o'right," he shrugs, leaving a fine dust of soot on the ground.

Raising an eyebrow, I seriously doubt taking him on this trip. I mean, he's no Tomb Raider at the moment. Watching him run a shaky hand through his already tousled hair, I wonder what to say. Someone touches me on the shoulder, and I turn to find Sirius standing behind me.

"He's had a rough night," he whispers, close enough to my ear to make me suspicious, "he blames himself for the Dementor attack on Harry."

The what attack? But I don't question him when I realise that we're losing time.

"Sorry Mundungus," I say to him, "but I can't let you on this Guard today, not when you look like you couldn't lift your wand without a forklift."

The tired wizard looks like he's about to protest, but I place a hand on his shoulder, saying, "Look, this isn't the best time for a heart-to-heart Buffy counseling session, but I don't think what happened to Harry is your fault. Now look out for Mrs. Weasley when it's not such a God-awful time of the morning, and eat one of her cookies."

"Let's move!" I say as I walk towards the little wooden box, "From now on until we return, I'm your leader, as in "follow the". If we come under attack and you decide to be your own macho-Arnie, that's your neck that you're sticking under vamp fangs."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Sirius pulls out his wand and positions himself on the table as I continue to talk to the wizards in front of me, "Remember, vampires are the most likely demons you'll meet on this Hellmouth, and a simple fire spell or stake through the heart will dust 'em. If you wanna show off, try decapitation."

Giving them a grin, I say as they gather around the Portkey, Sirius' face already tight with concentration, "On the count of three. One, two, three!"

I give a small grunt as the still unfamiliar tug of the Portkey yanks at my navel, sending a slightly sick feeling pool at the bottom of my stomach. It's not until I hit gravel and have to steady myself that the nauseous feeling stops. There's not much difference in light, as the kitchen was quite dim, and only a few lampposts light the road. I do a quick headcount. Good, everyone's arrived in one piece; let's see if we can return without any dismembered parts. Ick-factor.

I realise that we have landed at the exact spot that Dumbledore said we would: at a bus stop about 200 yards away from the radius of the Hellmouth. The wizard said that the power emanating from the centre would interfere with the Portkey, and probably land us in some wayward Hell dimension. Well, not exactly those words, but I caught the gist of it.

To the side, I catch a glimpse of Snape pocketing the Portkey into his robes, handling it carefully with a black, silky looking handkerchief. Okay, now we just have to find Faith's house.

There's a distinct pull in my chest as we start to walk closer to the Hellmouth. Despite being at the front, I can tell that it's affecting the Aurors too. I can hear slight murmurs of hesitation as the pull of the darkness gets stronger, continuing down dimly lit streets. My fingers start to fidget in the pocket of my leather jacket, fingering the smooth wood of the stake that's hidden in one, and the small piece of crumpled paper with Faith's address in the other.

_Just in case._

_I can always call, you know._

_Where's the fun in that?_

A tiny tingle warns me of a vamp near by. I stop, and hear the others halt as well. Shutting my eyes briefly, I can sense that it's about 150 feet away to the right, near a dense patch of trees. Then the shriek of a girl sets alarms off and I spin around to the Guard.

"I should be able to handle this by myself," I say quickly, "but _one_ person come with me. The rest of you stay here and watch out."

Not waiting to see who follows, I follow my instincts and sprint towards the vampire. There's another vibe running through that's worrying me, but I have to deal with this first. I'm there in a few seconds and see a young guy with dusty blonde hair greedily sucking the blood out of a girl, who is lying limply in his arms.

"Don't you know that the whole sucking thing went down with the Hellmouth?" I quip, catching his attention and making him drop the girl.

"And who the Hell are you?" he asks, fangs dripping with blood, face contorted and looking greedy for more.

"I'm the _other_ Slayer. Just dropping by for a visit," I say before launching at him with a series of punches in his gut and face. He doubles over slightly, but catches my fist and pushes me back into a tree with force. Bark digs into my back and I'm itching for a good fight, but I remind myself that there might be a stronger attack than a vamp encounter, so hold back.

I duck as he sends his fist flying into my face, grinning when he growls at the splinters in his fist. I pull the stake out of my pocket and throw it accurately at his heart as he charges back at me, dusting him. But before the dust even manages to settle, I strong shiver jumps up my spine, and I dodge, but not before I feel the pinprick of a needle in the side of my neck, sending everything blur and dark.

I groan as somebody throws me over their shoulder, a wave of pain flooding my body. I barely manage to pick out and throw the piece of crumpled paper on the ground before everything goes black as my captive starts to walk. _Shit._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"'Bout time, B," a voice drawls from a few feet away.

Groaning, I clutch my neck. Cramps were never my style.

"Faith?" I ask, confused, "this isn't one of those cryptic-messages-foretelling-death dreams, is it? 'Cause I've got to say, I've been expecting a bald guy holding a plate of cheese for a while now."

It's only now that I realise that I'm stuck in a cage. Again.

"And what is with the cages?" I ask, annoyed.

"It must be a bondage fetish," she answers, sounding a bit tired, "the room's covered with them."

I frown. These guys must be planning for something big.

"Faith, how'd you get stuck here?" I ask, turning to the right where her voice is coming from.

"Question is," she starts, and I hear with worry that her voice seems to be deteriorating, "what are _you_ doing here? Last I heard was you'd been shipped off to Giles-land."

Towards the end, I can hear tones of something else under her voice. She still sounds the same, but something isn't quite right...

"Yeah, I have," I answer cautiously, "just came back to tidy up a few things. What about you?"

"Nothin' much," the voice replies, strengthening as it goes, but it holds a harder tint to it, "Just trainin' some more Potentials we found, and keepin' an eye on the old place. What about you?"

Her voice has lost its usual teasing and roguish tone, and I know what game's being played here.

"Oh, it's been kinda quiet for me too," I say, trying to think up of lies as quickly as possible, "Don't know what that stupid, old wizard is thinking of, but he won't let me have a say in anything. All I've heard from people around is that Dumbledore's _pretty_ scared of Voldemort. I mean, he's not even sending out patrols because there are too few volunteers."

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that whatever is possessing Faith will take the bait. Thank God the room is dark, so she can't see my hands clenched tightly around the base of the cold metal bars.

There's silence for a few moments until the voice says, "So what? No plans, no tactics, no action? Sounds boring, B."

A wave of short-lived relief hits me, "Nup, not a thing. I've just been keeping the kids busy in..."

_Crap. I can't mention Number 12._

"In the school," I finish quickly. Damn it.

Momentary silence.

"So, you've been living in a school?" the voice asks, laced with something more sinister.

"Yeah," I reply, praying that I don't sound shaky, "Dumbledore's school. It's huge, Faith, and it's not like the decade of school you missed. It's so much better, 'cause they learn Potions...and um, Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Realising that I have strayed off the topic, the First leaves Faith, and I hear a soft thud as she hits the bottom of the cage. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, and lightly massage my neck with cool fingers.

In a few seconds, Faith stirs and moans, "God, did you get the plate of that truck?"

"Yeah, it had the number one and 's' and 't' after it," I answer, "how long has this been happening, Faith?"

"Couple of weeks, maybe," she replies, and I can almost hear her shrug, "I don't really remember the part where I pass out. Only this time, when I heard the trigger, I was out patrolling and found myself in this damn cage."

"It's back, you know," I say, crawling over to the side of my cage, "that's why I came here, because I know it's after you. You've gotta come back with me."

I hear her curse and smack her palm against the cage in frustration.

"What's the trigger?"

"A song that my mother used to sing to me when I was a kid," she whispers.

Silence passes between us for a while before I speak again.

"You still with Wood?" I ask softly.

She sighs, and I realise how much she has changed from the Slayer she used to be when she first arrived in Sunnydale.

"He followed me here first, and we were going to take it easy, y'know? Go slow," she says, her voice saddened, "but...I dunno, it just didn't work. We became busier and didn't see each other as much, until..."

Trailing off, it hits me that Faith probably hasn't had to deal with this heartbreak for a long time.

"Hey, I promise that when we bust out of Bondage Palace, we'll have a long girl chat," I say confidently.

I can almost hear the grin in her voice, "You're on, B. Now how the Hell do we get out?"


	20. We Came

The slightly claustrophobic bars surrounding me are starting to get me incredibly pissed off. In what I think has been over 15 minutes, I have been trying to bust open this damn cage, with Faith sitting silently in her cage. I can tell a determined smirk is resting on her face.

"Told you," she yawns, "I spent all of my time thinking up ways to break this thing till you showed up. They've got it cursed with some tough freakin' mojo."

I start to grit my teeth in annoyance. I don't think I've ever spent this much time with Faith without having something to vent my irritations on, vampires being very convenient.

"Well, couldn't hurt to give it a shot," I say harshly, trying to swallow back my frustration with the cramped space I'm in and Faith's careless attitude, "maybe they locked mine with some _different_ mojo."

"Hey, no need for the 'tude, B," I hear her retort from next to me, "just wanted to see how long it took you to bust your leg trying to get out."

Rolling my eyes, I have to agree. Both my legs are just the tiniest bit sore from the enraged kicking I took out on the bars. Unfortunately, the stupid Death Eaters learnt from my last escape: despite all my efforts, the rods don't even have a dent. I've also tried wrenching open the small lock in the corner at the top of the cage. But they've sealed it with magic too.

Then I hear a creak at the door as it swings open, revealing a darkly cloaked and hunched figure in a faint pool of yellow light. My head whips up at the sound, and a fierce hatred starts to seethe in my chest, spreading to the edges of my fingers and legs. I can feel the adrenalin rush through me, my heart pumping faster with anticipation as I think of all the ways of hurting this person.

But as soon as that thought passes through, a sickening hissing voice whispers, "What a sight this is."

I stare at the figure and am startled when glowing, demonic red eyes flicker from underneath the hood veiling the person's face. I can tell Faith is too, as I hear her boot clang quietly against one of the bars of her cage. But in the silent room, the noise echoes through, and a slight shiver raises goosebumps along my skin.

The hooded figure looks up and the red eyes that blaze out from the dark capture me. I suck in a quick breath at the power that's rolling off in dangerous waves from the entrance. From here, I can see that there is a narrow corridor leading both ways, oil lamps on the wall lighting it. We must be underground, because there's a familiar stiffness in my chest that only comes from patrolling Sunnydale's sewers and crypts, heading closer to the core of the Hellmouth.

Still shrouded in the pale light, the figure steps forward and shuts the door with a loud bang that reverberates off the walls. Unwittingly, I feel myself start to inch towards the back of the cage. The power oozing off this guy has increased in the pitch darkness, only the demonic red eyes a sign of his wrath.

"Two of the most powerful beings in the Universe, trapped under Lord Voldemort, with nowhere to run, and no one coming to their rescue," the voices hisses in a sinister undertone, his eyes growing closer towards us.

My eyes narrow dangerously. So _this_ is the feared Voldemort.

...Can't even shout Can't even cry... 

I snort, aware of the way that the red eyes widen with anger, "you wouldn't have managed to pull this off without being slave-boy to the First, who, I bet, is enjoying himself _very_ comfortably while you do his dirty work."

It's so quiet, I can faintly hear Faith's careful breathing, and then, "Crucio."

I bite my lip until it bleeds, not giving in to screaming from the God-awful pain that wracks my body. Instead, I clench my fists to my chest, writhing until the first brunt of pain has washed over, and manage to gasp out, "You are so _fucking_ weak."

The pain continues for a moment longer, managing to draw blood from my nose. I feel the warm fluid slowly start to drip down, just touching my upper lip. I can taste, feel and smell blood everywhere. The bitter copper taste is in my mouth, my nose, my hands. Unclenching my fists, I can feel the sting of where my fingers dug into the palm of my hand, drawing more blood from the deep crescent marks.

As quickly as possible, I shut my eyes and try to gather as much strength back into my body. But despite my concentration, his acrid hiss still manages to get through.

"I am anything _but_ weak, Slayer," he says, spitting out the last word with disgust.

I would roll my eyes if I weren't in such pain. Insulting male pride gets you everywhere.

"Prove it, Snake-Boy," Faith scoffs from her cage. I hope she knows what she's doing...

With a snap, the lock on her cage flicks open, and I can see the silhouette of her figure nimbly climb out of the cage, her legs stretching. The clack of her boots on the floor is heavier than usual, and I can tell that sitting in the cage has affected her. I just hope to God that she has a plan.

Voldemort launches the first curse swiftly, my ears just catching the mutter of _Avada Kedavra_. A bright bolt of green illuminates the room, and as Faith dives to the right, I see what Faith meant by having a bondage fetish. The room is quite large, about three quarters the size of my training room in the Magic Box, and lining the walls are identical metal cages, some even stacked on top of each other in the corners.

The two of them are battling in the middle of the room, the wizard hissing curses on my left, and Faith dodging them on the right. All of a sudden, I manage to see Faith narrowly flip over a shot thrown at her as the light illuminates the room again, and continue flipping until she reaches Voldemort, who stumbles slightly at the ground she's gained.

The light dies, and I hear sounds of a struggle.

Faith curses, and suddenly I find a bright green curse heading straight towards me. I yelp slightly, diving to the right and hitting my head against one of the metal bars. But the sound is nothing compared to the ringing in my ears from the spell that hit the cage, making it vibrate against me. Wincing slightly, I yell, "A little warning next time? I don't wanna be the next Alex Mack!"

"How about," she grunts and my eyes widen as a curse clips her on her calf, "a little help instead?"

She's wounded, and I hear her groan again as another curse cuts her on the arm. Relieved to find that the curse that hit the cage managed to melt through the bars, I squeeze out, and run over to where I saw Voldemort last. The anger that was slightly dimmed through fear begins to lash out again as I pummel him in his soft gut, reveling in the winded, and hopefully, pained gasps he produces. Swiftly producing a roundhouse, I knock the wooden stick out of his hand. As I move in to continue punching in hopes of bringing him down, I suddenly find myself punching into air.

Then an evil laugh emerges and I find myself lost in the dark.

"Where is he?" Faith whispers, coming to stand with her back against me. I can smell the blood of her wounds.

_You killed me._

I shake my head, causing Faith to ask, "What's wrong?"

Shaking my head again, a sudden crawl up my spine alerts me to something else. I close my eyes. Not again.

"What's wrong?" a silky voice mocks from one corner of the room, "the big Slayers scared?"

"Of a prick like you?" Faith snorts, but I can hear the tiny edge of hesitation when she realises whose voice it is, "not likely."

Oh God, oh God...of all the people...

"What's wrong, love?" the voice says, coming closer, and I can feel my heart clench tightly, "Not gonna give us a kiss?"

"You're not him," I mutter, repeating words from only a few weeks ago.

_No, you killed him right and proper._

_I love you._

_No you don't._

_But thanks for saying it._

"Sure I am, ducks," the voice drawls, coming even closer, and blowing a puff of cigarette smoke towards us. It stings my eyes, and I can feel my eyes well up with tears. Though from the memory or the smoke, or even a mixture of both, I'm not sure. All I can think about is the last gaze into his blue eyes. Icy cold, and yet, warmth was seeping into them as he adjusted to his soul. He didn't get the chance.

"Ignore it, Buffy," Faith says, "it's not him, you know that."

I do, but somehow, his presence feels...right.

"It's gonna end soon, love," he says in his familiar lack of tone, "you should get yourself outta this mess. He's not gonna stop at this world, y'know?"

"Shut up!" Faith yells, launching at him. But he disappears like Voldemort did, leaving her in a rage.

"Talk on. I'm not afraid of you."

I swing my arm around in the dark and place a restraining hand on Faith, who turns to look at me. I can tell by the feel of air as her hair moves.

The First materialises again, still as Spike.

"You know what I want, Slayer. You know what _he_ wants. Why fight? It's going to tumble down on your pretty little head soon enough," he says, and I can hear a run of malice through Spike's voice.

I let the space breathe between us, and feel Faith tense tightly under my hand.

"I wanna see how it ends," I say tonelessly, echoing Spike's parting words.

The air in the room constricts almost chokingly as he leaves. A few seconds pass, and just as I drop my hand from Faith's shoulder, the door bursts open and a flood of light from nine lit wands reveals my missing Guard.

Remus hurries forward to me with Snape in tow.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and even in the weak light, I can see worry lines all over his face.

"Werewolf?" Faith asks, eyeing Remus suspiciously.

"Guard, meet Faith. We came, we rescued, we go," I say, and can hear exhaustion creeping into my voice.

"Rescued, my ass," Faith counters teasingly, and I can almost see those eyebrows being raised, "if it weren't for me, blondie, you wouldn't have been out of that cage."

I find myself falling short of a quip and frown.

"Damn," I say with a grin, "ain't much to say to that."

"Damn straight," Faith replies, hooking her arm in mine and following the Guard out with a slight limp.

Snape lurks in the background, somehow managing to inch behind us and bring up the rear as we troop out of the underground sewerage slash dungeon we are in. The lights from the Guard's wands flash over the curved walls, and the small puddles of murky water that we pass.

Tonks is walking in front with me, along with two other Aurors. Slipping my arm out of Faith's, I give a slight nod towards the aqua-blue haired girl. I watch as Faith limps off towards her, striking a conversation about her hair, but not without a sharp questioning glance to me first. Ignoring the look, I slow down my pace and find myself walking by Snape.

"How'd you find us?" I say while dodging a big puddle of grimy water.

"I was the one that followed you during that vampire attack," he says quietly, "but I didn't reach the area until the Death Eater had taken you. I found your piece of paper."

With that, he reaches into the left hand pocket of his robes, pulling out the now grubby piece of paper.

"We managed to find the house, but there were only a few girls there. Potentials, they said?" he turns to me with an inquiring look.

"Slayers in training," I reply offhandedly, wanting to know more about how they reached this sewer.

"Well they pointed out the cemetery that Faith was going to patrol, and when we arrived, we found a crypt with the door slightly ajar. In fact, it's the one we're standing in now."

Looking around, I'm surprised at how fast we've reached the top. Cobwebs filter the place, and a thick layer of dust lies in the air. It's nothing like Spike's...

"There were only a few Death Eaters blocking the way," Snape continues, abruptly stopping my train of thought, "it seems that you weren't heavily guarded."

"Yeah, what do you need Grim Reapers for when you've got indestructible cages?" I comment sarcastically, "the latest technology: no more manual labour!"

Snape chuckles loudly at this and I realise that it's the first time I've heard him laugh. It's odd, actually...sounds foreign coming from his mouth. Now that we're in the cemetery, heading out towards the main road, I can see that some of the stern wrinkles across his brow have panned out.

We continue to walk in silence, but I can hear catches of Faith's conversation in front, with the occasional "Hell cool!" being exclaimed.

The clench in my chest has lessened heaps, and I know that we're on the outskirts of the Hellmouth without even seeing the bus sign in the distance. At the pace we're going, we reach the deserted bus stop in no time.

When we touch the wooden box, I instantly hear Faith's yell of "What the f – " when the tug in my navel yanks me back to the kitchen of Number 12, where I have to catch Faith from stumbling.

"Can we do it again?" she asks with a grin as she places some weight on her wounded leg.

I see that we've landed in the exact same spot that we left, only a few hours ago. Sirius is still sitting on the kitchen table, panting slightly, but his eyes widen and glaze over when he catches sight of Faith. Once he catches Faith's attention, a slight predatory smile works its way across her face as she tries to saunter over.

Unfortunately, the limp in her leg causes her to stumble slightly, and she curses. In a flash, Sirius is there, helping her up and steadying her. Putting one arm across her back, he helps her onto the table, where Faith gives me the slowest wink in history.


	21. Three Little Words

As I gently kick the warm duvet off me, I can feel the hot, stray slit of sunlight that's managed to filter through the gap between the dark drapes covering my windows. Groaning tiredly from the previous night, I can feel the stiff ache in my thighs and back after that damn Crucio curse Voldemort hit me with.

Stretching the kinks out of my neck, I find it hard to believe how much time Faith and I had actually spent in those tight cages. By the time we had arrived back, it was past lunchtime. A slight smirk lifts the edges of my lips as I imagine _how_ hungry Faith had been by the time she got stitched up. And I'm not just talking for food.

After arriving back, I had proceeded to collapse in a heap on my bed, promptly falling asleep until this morning. Roughly tucking in the edges of my crumpled bed sheet, I wonder which room Faith's in. Wincing slightly after stretching my quads, I think I should try to squeeze in a meditation session with her before reporting to Dumbledore.

Stepping into the bathroom, I strip quickly out of my grimy clothes from yesterday, grimacing as I throw them into a pile on the floor. Small, dark patches of blood are smeared across my brown singlet, most likely from Faith's cuts. And even from the shower, I can see the crusty residue of dried mud and mucky water along the edge of my faded jeans. Turning away, I let out soft sigh of bliss as steaming water hits me, clouding up the glass screen.

As I lather up the sweet, honey-scented shampoo in my hands, my thoughts wander to our encounter with the two Big Bads we'll definitely be facing again. Voldemort was relatively easy to deal with in the dark. Being a mortal, I could feel the weakness of his flesh under my attacks, his only advantage being throwing spells with a pointy wooden stick, which I can easily match with Mr. Pointy. His disappearing act is a problem, and will probably frustrate Faith and I, should we have to fight him again. So, I'll file that away under Anger Management.

Running conditioner through my limp hair, I scowl slightly as some annoying strands come away, tangling themselves in my fingers. As I push my hands under the hot stream of water, my thoughts fade back to the First.

He...or It...plays on our weaknesses. I knew that from Sunnydale. I also knew that It would act as Spike when we met, which is why it's so damn frustrating that I was still shocked when It revealed itself. But it had seemed so real...

_What's wrong, love?_

_Not gonna give us a kiss?_

I bite back a sob as the memories roar past. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. So many words, so many promises to make. And all in the span of those few seconds as I looked into his eyes. But was it all in the moment? After all, how many times had I told him it was nothing? That his love for me wasn't real? And that I could _never_ love him back the way he wanted me to.

I watch as the soft bubbles of foam glide down my arms and chest, down my legs until they swirled into the drain below. The slightly brown tinted water snaps me back, and I frown as I try to scrub the dirt off me. Pouring more off my favourite vanilla body wash into my hand, I shut my eyes, willing the torrent of memories and sad thoughts to pass. Once I'm done, I wrap a soft green towel around me, placing another one around my head and piling my hair on top. My hair's gonna be one hell of a tangle later.

Rummaging through the clothes that I brought, I pick out a cream coloured skirt and a lace white top. I remember having to steal it back from Dawn after she _borrowed_ it for a year. Grinning, I think of all the possible 'girly' comments Faith can make about me. But today, I don't feel like doing anything but relaxing. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull off the soaked towel around my head. Lightly running a comb through it, I think about all the things I can do today.

Eat something.

Meditate, stretch, anything to get rid of the stupid aches.

Talk to Dumbledore.

Eat something.

Terrorise the kids.

Do some weapons training.

Eat something.

I give a little chuckle at how many times I fitted in eating. After slipping on a pair of sandals, I'm just about to step out when I spot my weapons bag peeking out of the bottom of my bed.

I met Kreacher, the house elf the other day, and might I say Gremlins? Except not as horrible as the really bad ones, and definitely not as cute as the good one. But his attitude deserves one Hell of a kick. Just the chance of meeting him again makes me consider taking a stake with me. But realising I have no where to put a weapon, let alone _hide_ one, makes me turn around and walk out into the corridor.

Making my way into the kitchen, I can hear Faith's loud laughter and roll my eyes with a grin. Stepping in, I see her partly laughing with Sirius, partly wolfing down a messy plate of toast, eggs and bacon. Glancing around, I spot Mrs. Weasley watching the enchanted dishes washing, a violet-haired Tonks next to her trying to do something with her wand.

"Mornin' B!" Faith calls, a bright smile on her face.

I can guess that it's been a while since Faith's smiled with such ease, so I grin back in response as I seat myself at the table, "Morning everyone."

Mrs. Weasley hands me a big plate full of food with a cheery greeting, that it's hard for me to tell her I'm not a big breakfast person. So I just start to nibble instead.

"You tryin' out for Miss Congeniality or something?" Faith asks, eyeing my top, "Thank God I didn't have to come to you for something to wear."

Rolling my eyes, I ask, noticing her change in clothes, "Not that I'd share with you. Where'd you get your clothes from anyway? I don't really see you having a suitcase in case of emergencies."

She responds, her mouth full of toast, "Apparently Dumbledore sent a letter to Amy, one of the neater Potentials living in the house, to shove some clothes and weapons in a trunk. And someone picked it up this morning."

She's wearing a plain, red sleeveless top with jeans, showing off the tattoo on her arm. I notice that the cut on her left arm has completely healed, with only a mean scar that will take a few more days to fade. Turning slightly to look at Sirius, it doesn't take a Xander-moment to realise that he's infatuated with her. The chair he's sitting on is at an angle facing her, and a small, goofy smile on his face makes him look a bit funny.

"So, where'd you bunk last night?" I ask Faith coyly, noticing Sirius redden slightly as I place a bit of egg into my mouth.

Faith smirks as she replies, "Oh, Sirius was kind enough to share his bedroom 'cause of me being injured and all."

A loud crash near the sink makes me whip my head around, to find Tonks blushing and muttering apologies, her robes covered with soapsuds. Mrs. Weasley only shakes her head in slight irritation at the pieces of broken china she floats out of the soapy sink.

"Oh, really," I comment with fake nonchalance, "Well, Miss Injured, feel up for some solid Tai Chi to rub those kinks out?"

"Well, I can think of a few other things that'll rub the kinks out..." she whispers seductively, laughing as Sirius clears his throat uncomfortably. I join in the laughter as he continues to flush.

"I-I'll leave you two to it, then," he stammers, leaving the kitchen in a rush.

The two of us crack with laughter at the sight of his retreating back before quieting down a bit at Mrs. Weasley's motherly, reprimanding look. Continuing to eat, it's a while before Faith speaks again.

"So, you've been here since..."

"A couple of days after Dawn left," I say quietly.

"I heard about that. Sorry Buff, but your Dad's a real bastard for taking her like that," she says venomously.

"Same thoughts here," I say, just moving the food around my plate as it grows cold, "but I couldn't do anything. Not without landing myself in jail for murder or something."

The effect of my comment doesn't hit me until I see a shadow flit across Faith's eyes. Her face remains stony, though, and I don't say anything more.

"You wanna do the Chinese?" she asks after a while, picking up her plate.

I nod and follow her, heading over to the sink and letting the bewitched soap and sponge do the washing. I lead her to the room at the back of the kitchen, and it's different as I step in for the second time. Sunlight washes through the whole room from the wide windows near the ceiling.

"Suh-weet," I hear Faith whistle behind me, checking out all the equipment and weapons.

"I know," I say, standing on one of the mats, "Dumbledore's really good like that.... among other things."

"Yeah," she snorts, standing next to me and bouncing slightly on her toes, "like being able to hex the crap out of 'ya, freaky mind reading and planning to save the world."

Hey, wow.

"Talk about cramming complex issues into a nutshell."

"Just one of my many brilliant talents," Faith gushes sarcastically.

"Let's start before I have to stake you when your head swells to demonic levels," I say, rolling my eyes and placing my feet together, "do you remember the set we did with Wes?"

"How could I forget?" she says, imitating my stance, "It was the only thing I learnt off him."

Closing my eyes, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and take a deep, relaxing breath, clearing my head of thought. Almost immediately, I can feel some of the strain on my lower back start to ebb away. Extending my senses, I push my hands forward slowly, knowing that Faith and I are moving exactly in time together. I start to swing my arms around to the right, leaning in on my right leg and stretching the taut muscles.

After a few repetitions, I start to move my arms in wide arcs, remembering the time when Angel and I had done Tai Chi after his return from Hell. His cool body pressed flush against mine, encircling my arms with his and moving, as if we were part of a graceful dance. Feeling no breath coming from him, while my heart was pumping rapidly, my breath quickening at our closeness. Bending down achingly slow, my arms perform a broad sweep, brushing my toes before returning up, my legs moving forward.

The quiet creak of the mat lets me know that we are still in time. Wesley had taught us this combination in one of our sessions. To centre the body, the mind, and the soul. To calm the senses. To relieve tension. I stretch out my arms once again, bending my knees this time, and steadily turning my body, feeling the strength in my knees return. Rising, my hands form shapes, guiding the direction of my arms while the rest of my body follows.

When we stop, and I finally open my eyes, we're back in the position we started in, and I can see a blissfully calm expression on Faith. The dull ache in my muscles has gone, and I'm actually surprised at how quickly I recovered from the Crucio this time.

"God, that was good," Faith sighs contentedly, flopping down on the mat.

Following suit, I push my legs out into a split, saying, "You feel up to that girl chat I promised?"

Shrugging, she replies, "Why not?"

Neither of us starts, and silence falls quickly.

"So, what happened with Robin Wood? And don't give me the abridged version," I say, looking at her.

"I'm not really sure," she replies, staring back at me with an emotion that I've never seen before: heartache, "One week it was going great, we couldn't have been happier. And then we had our first fight, over something completely stupid."

"They're usually the first ones," I say, nodding my head, "Make you say so many things you regret."

"No shit," Faith says, looking down and examining her clear polished nails. I wonder vaguely if she ever got to do her nails in jail.

"What was it like? In jail, I mean," I ask, watching her pick at her nails.

"Hell," she responds simply, "I couldn't wait for my parole. Everyone's out to get ya, and even defending yourself lands you back where you started. Thank God I busted out with Wesley."

What the-?

"You broke out?" I ask, my mouth dropping slightly, "You're _wanted_?"

"Nothin' new, B," she shrugs, looking back up at me, before smirking slyly, "I'm _always_ wanted."

I shake my head and move my legs out in front of me. I know it's no use asking her why she didn't tell me.

"So, what was really going on between you and Spike? I mean, I was suffocating on the sexual tension everyday."

Sighing, I say, "I'm not really sure myself. I mean, he hung around with us for a while, 'specially after the little Freaky Friday we pulled."

At that, Faith dips her head a little lower, guilt written in her eyes. I don't comment, the wounds are still there, despite all the time she's spent in prison. I know it would ease her pain to hear that I've forgiven her, but...the pain still lingers. Especially about Riley.

"To say I overreacted when he said he loved me is insulting all understatements," I laugh with a tang of bittersweet lodged on my tongue, "I hated him for it, and even worse, I hated myself for letting him get to me."

"Was it that bad?" Faith asks with a raised eyebrow, flicking a wavy strand of hair off her face, "I wouldn't exactly shove Spike in the un-shaggable undead column."

"God, no, the sex was amazing," I reply, blushing a bit, "But he was the enemy, he had no soul, and couldn't be anything but beneath me."

"Yeah, literally," Faith snorts, and I glare. I let the moment linger, knowing exactly what was pressing against the back of my mind.

"It wasn't until later that I realised how much he'd meant to me, watching my back, being part of the gang...but when I came back," I say softly, brutally ripping open old wounds that haven't quite healed, "he knew. He knew where I'd been, and he knew I'd come back wrong. And...it hurt."

I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes, and before I can stop it, a soft gasp of misery wrenches out of my throat. Stop, stop, stop. Don't, he's gone, it's over...

_Don't you get it?_

_Don't you see?_

_You came back wrong._

A harsh laugh rips out after I angrily swipe the tears away, "And then I got addicted. Poor little Buffy, like a druggie whore to a vampire. I was no different to Riley."

"Buff-"Faith makes to interrupt, a stunned look on her face, before I whisper painfully.

"Isn't it odd what Slayers are addicted to? I couldn't get off the temptation of death, and you couldn't give up..."

What couldn't Faith give up? She killed a man, turned her back on us and betrayed us, but she paid for it. Paid for it with a coma, went to jail, kicked the habit of flirting with vengeance. The realisation dawns on me as I turn dazed eyes towards her.

"Does this make me the bad slayer now?" I whisper, repeating her words.

"No, Buffy," she says firmly, crawling over to me, "You _died_. Twice. You've been to Goddamn Heaven and back. I mean, they even _told_ you death was your gift. How can you not jump the line?"

My mind seems to be a blank space. Floating in it are her words, but everything's hazy. I shake my head to clear the mess that's cluttering it. Picking at old scabs don't bring anything but pain.

"And I thought I was gonna be the counsellor today," I laugh shakily, "I'm alright. I just had...I'm alright."

Faith nods, retreating back and giving me my personal space.

"You wanna do a bit of meditation?" I ask quietly, crossing my legs.

She doesn't respond, but moves towards me and holds my hands. Straightening my back, I take a deep breath, and begin to murmur soft words that Willow taught me.

"Goddess Hygeia, I beseech thee. Heal our mind, our body and our spirits. Bless us with your healing spirit."

As I keep repeating the words like a mantra, a cool swirl of energy seems to bubble delicately in the pit of my stomach, branching out into my body with calm tendrils of power. A tingling sensation greets the tips of my fingers and toes, and soon, I feel my whole body quivering faintly with clean, fresh energy. My eyes snap open as I feel my body buzzing with the intense magic. Faith has the same awe-filled expression on her face.

"We should do that more often," she exclaims with an enthusiastic grin.

It's then that I notice that the door's slightly ajar. Narrowing my gaze, I smirk as I can see the shapes of heads peeking around the door. I motion Faith's attention to the door, and her lips curve into a plotting grin. She jogs silently to the door and in one swift motion, pulls the door open, sending six figures tumbling to the ground with yelps.

"Well, well, look what I found, B," Faith drawls with a highly amused grin, leaning casually against the door, "Peter Pan and the Lost Boys!"

Snickering, I watch as the six kids awkwardly to their feet. For the first time, I realise that the two other Weasley brothers are twins. From here, I can't seem to pick a difference between them.

"Twiddledee and Twiddledum, front and centre!" I bark, enjoying seeing the twins' faces flush and they hesitantly step forward, but gaining courage as I smile at them.

"What're your names?"

"Fred Weasley, Miss," the one on my left pipes up.

"And I'm George Weasley, pleased to meet you," the one on my right says, with a charming grin.

"I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer," I say before nodding towards Faith, "and that's Faith the Vampire Slayer."

The twins aren't the only ones with confused expressions on their faces. Hermione seems to be having a fit, rapidly flicking her head from Faith to me with a bewildered look on her face. Having two Vampire Slayers in the one room must be defying all laws of nature...or books, if she's anything like high school Willow.

"So that's who you picked up yesterday," Harry says, nodding with understanding, "Everyone was wondering where you'd gone. Sirius wouldn't tell us anything."

I shrug, "Secrecy's up to Dumbledore. But seeing as you guys are so intent on spying on everyone...what exactly were you doing at the door, anyway?"

Blushes cover all of their faces, except the two smiling twins in front of me.

"You two wanna answer on their behalf?" Faith asks as she shuts the door and strolls towards me.

"We just wanted to watch a good duel, that's all," Fred protests.

"Yeah," George agrees, nodding fervently, "can you show us something wicked?"

I spare a glance at Faith, whose eyes have taken on a fiendish gleam. I notice that the scar on her arm has completely faded, probably boosted by the little magical meditation before.

"How 'bout it, B?" Faith asks, heading towards the wall and throwing me a sword, "you feel up for a little one-on-one?"

"You sure you can take me?" I ask with a smirk, catching the glimmering sword deftly and giving a practice swing, that she meets instantly, returning the sneaky smile.

"Five by five, girl."

Soon I find myself locked in a battle with my sister Slayer, our swords humming through the air, slicing and clashing with each other. It's a beautiful noise that I relish, the battle fever striking me hard. Meeting her attacks and keeping my defense, we continue to circle each other, lashing out with intensity. Suddenly she whirls, and I can see that she's trying to corner me, so I launch myself onto one of the beams, creating a little height and distance.

"Need the advantage?" she laughs teasingly, continuing to strike her blade with mine.

"S'not my fault I seem to be vertically challenged," I grumble, twirling back off the beam and swinging my blade in a strong arc to meet hers, making her sword quiver in her grasp just slightly. Immediately, I take the advantage and deliver a rapid series of blows until she's kept on defense, where I muster the energy in my arms and finally knock the blade out of her hold. My thin-bladed sword ends the fierce arc at her abdomen, pointing to where I had stabbed her with a dagger, years before.

_You did it._

_You killed me._

I see the startled expression in her eyes at where my blade's pointing, and I don't seem to register the animated cheers from our audience. Dropping the blade with a clatter, my fingers instantly flit to the side of my temple. It's then that I realise how much turning my back on Faith when she most needed my help affected her. She isn't the only one that needs forgiveness.

"Guys, could you...um, could you just leave for a sec?" I ask, looking at Faith, who is busying herself with picking up our blades.

I see the curious glances the kids cast as they wait just outside the door, leaving it slightly ajar still, I notice wryly.

I walk to Faith, who is hanging up the swords on the wall. What do I say?

"Faith – "

"It's all in the past," she interrupts quickly, turning to face me, "let's just leave it there."

I shake my head, "No, because I know you want this as much as I do. We've left too many things between us, and I just want you to know that..."

Say it. Just say it.

"I-I forgive you."

She sucks a sudden breath in.

"Oh God..."

"I mean, not just for our little switch, but for everything before that as well. Graduation, Angel, everything. I'm not exactly Saint Buffy, and I know how much three words can mean."

Silence, and then she lifts tear-filled eyes to me.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for someone to say that."

I pull her into a tight hug as she mutters into my ear, "I never blamed you for stabbing me. Hell, if my boyfriend's life was hanging by a loose thread, and I was the cause, I'd have eviscerated me too."

Letting go, I give a chuckle as I turn towards the door, yelling, "Don't you guys have anything better to do?"

The two of us snicker as we hear six pairs of feet rush away from the door.


	22. Death Wish

A few days pass, finding both Faith and I bumming aimlessly around the house, mostly training, and at other times helping the kids 'de-Doxify' the house. Between the two of us, we managed to come up with a basic routine that would leave Giles proud of our skills. There's been a nagging feeling bothering both of us, a warning of things to come, so Faith and I have been preparing for whatever's thrown at us. I wanted to talk to Dumbledore about it, but I haven't seen him since the night of Faith's introduction.

Stretching my limbs in the training room, a smirk flits across my face as I remember the night the Order met Faith.

"I'd like you to meet Miss Faith. Like Miss Summers, she is a Slayer and will also be aiding the Order during her time here."

"_Hey Dumble, drop the Miss. It's just Faith."_

_A small snicker escapes from me as I see the slightly indignant expression on her face, her brown-lined eyes flitting towards me in a smoky glare. Dumbledore has a bemused look on his face too. Casting my eyes away from her, I roam around and find Sirius in his usual corner, and despite the deep shadows he's standing in, a smitten look has graced his face. I hide another snicker._

"_Of course," Dumbledore replies with a smile, "Faith will be joining Miss Summers on the dispatched patrols for the time being, until more evidence about the whereabouts of the Death Eaters is found."_

"_You can join my team any time," a voice across the table mutters, snickering to his partners. _

_My eyes narrow and I can hear a soft growl from Sirius up the back, but I smirk slowly when I realise that Faith heard it too. A wicked smile lifts her lips. Hips swaying seductively, she saunters down from Dumbledore's side and makes her way to the wizard. Her leather pants stretch tightly across her muscles, and I see a few male heads turn her way as she passes them._

_Reaching the drooling wizard, who has a smug expression on his face, Faith straddles him, a mischievous glint in her eye. The growl from the back gets louder. Sniggering quietly, I can't help but settle myself in for a show. If Faith doesn't finish him, Sirius will._

_I have no small amount of surprise at Dumbledore's acceptance of what Faith's doing. But then again, he did let me kick Snape's ass when I got here._

"_What's that, hon?" Faith purrs as she rakes a finger down the wizard's robes, "You want a piece of this?"_

_The man doesn't reply, but his eyes are glazed over as he watches Faith with lust almost dripping off him. She shoots him a sexy smile as she adjusts her waist, grating slowly against his hips before leaning her head down to one ear. Only with Slayer hearing, am I able to hear what she whispers._

"_Babe, I could ride you until your knees buckled," she murmurs, tracing his ear with her tongue and making him shiver, "but I've got better plans. Try that again, and I'll hit you where it hurts most."_

And with that, she bites down on his ear. Hard.

"Kinky thoughts?"

I blink, the memory fading quickly as I quirk and eyebrow at Faith's comment. She's wearing a grey pair of training shorts and a yellow baby tee. Won't she feel cold in the rest of the house? Just the dark magic in the house makes me shiver. Though if things have been going the way I think, Faith has _somebody_ keeping her warm...

"F to B, F to B," she calls, waving a hand in front of me, "wake up B."

"Sorry," I mutter, shaking my head, "just lost in thoughts."

"No, really?" she replies sarcastically before heading out.

After grabbing a quick drink of water from the kitchen, the loud chiming rings of the doorbell and sudden screams from the portrait in front alert Faith and I to visitors. Walking leisurely to the front, we see Mrs. Weasley just shutting the door after Snape. Giving a quick glance to the top of the stair railing, I can just see the bright red tips of spiky hair peeking over.

"Good morning, Sir Sneer-alot," Faith throws over her shoulder with a smirk, as she ascends the stairs, probably to see Sirius. I roll my eyes.

Snape doesn't answer, but a mean scowl forms on his lips.

"Is she always that trying?" he grits out, shrugging off a large black coat to reveal a striking set of...black robes.

"Yup, that's Faith in a nutshell," I answer with a grin, "and have you ever tried wearing any colour _other_ than black?"

Suddenly the image of Snape dressed in bright pink robes and attempting ballet flits across and I double over with laughter. He's looking at me like I have a screw loose, but the thought is just...so...funny...

"Just _what_ are you laughing at?"

I shake my head, wiping the hilarious tears from my eyes.

"Nothing, nothing," I say, trying to smother my giggles, "everything's peachy."

By the time my humour has died down, I'm climbing the stairs, Snape having left to do some Order business or something. The redheads have left their spot by the railing, probably running after they saw Faith coming up. At the top of the landing, I can see that the whole lot of them has crammed into one room just in front of where the railing starts.

"Hey, what's going on?" I say, leaning against the doorframe. It's only now that I've noticed how quiet they've been in the past day. No loud shrieks from Doxy attacks, less popping around by the twins, and even their laughter has been muted.

"Harry's gone to his trial today," Hermione says, her bushy hair quivering slightly, "we know he'll be alright, but..."

"What trial?"

"You don't know?" Ron asks, shock written all over his freckled face, "I thought you were part of the Guard. Harry said – "

"Yeah, I _was_ part of the Guard. But no one mentioned anything about a trial," I reply with a frown, wondering what kind of trouble Harry could have possibly gotten into.

I spend the next hour and a half, squished next to the twins on one bed, being told everything, right from the beginning. Why Voldemort wants Harry in the first place, about that scar on his forehead that I try not to stare at, the evil relatives he has, and basically all their adventures leading up to his being at Number 12. Every kid in the room's lived the adventures, butting in here and there to add their opinion or other facts.

"So," Faith says from the doorway with a smile, "the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Died Twice, huh? Kinda catchy."

I don't know how long she's been standing there, dressed down in an old, and slightly ripped pair of jeans and a black singlet. Her hair's wet and slightly tangled from her shower. Ginny shifts over on the floor, and Faith plops down next to her, starting to finger-comb her hair. Then the petite redhead starts to run her fingers through Faith's hair too, like a sister. I smile when a shocked expression crosses the other Slayer's face. It's been a long time since Faith's received a simple gesture like that. A wistful sigh escapes my lips when I think of the times Dawn and I used to spend together, brushing each other's hair, painting our toenails...

"Who's Dawn?" a voice pipes up curiously, startling me.

"What?"

"Yeah, who's Dawn?" one of the twins repeat, an interested look on his face too. I think it's Fred; because his nose is bent at the tiniest angle. Probably from that game they play...Cabbage? No, why would they play a vegetable game?

"Buffy?"

"Huh? Oh, Dawn's my sister," I reply tonelessly, the pain of her being taken still fresh. If I could I would've brought her here, away from all that death, that loss, dad...

"She looks awfully different from you," Hermione says, peering at me closely. For a second, my eyes narrow, wondering how she knows what Dawn looks like, when I remember that Boggart thing. A small shiver raises goosebumps when I remember her limp form on the ground.

Should I tell them? Dawn's a million miles away, isn't she? And it's not like they'll really blab. Faith's looking at me peculiarly too, probably wondering how much I'm going to tell them. I shrug lightly.

"It's not really a secret any more, but I'd appreciate it if you guys don't spread it around," I say with a hint of a glare, "I don't want to place her in _any_ trouble at all, especially if your Almighty Dark One decides to do a little dimension-hopping."

They look a bit confused at my statement, but I just start, launching into the story when I first found out Dawn wasn't real. Even Faith looks a bit rapt, obviously never having heard this part.

"My sister's a Key to other dimensions. Basically, if you say a few words and bleed her a little, you've got a big cosmic no-no," I say, amused when a few eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, "especially if you've got a banished Paris-Hilton-wannabe Hellgod bent on getting back to her dimension."

I have all of their attention as I tell the story, managing to end with my acrobatics off the tower just as my stomach grumbles with hunger. All the kids' eyes are glazed with awe, and the twins look like they're about to bow down to me any second. Hermione's eyes are a bit glassy, especially at the end with my second death.

"Wow," Ginny whispers, her hands long gone from Faith's tangle-free hair.

A grin creeps up, and I shrug.

"That's ancient history. Faith and I'll have to tell you 'bout the Potentials," I say with a fake shudder, "All those hormones..."

A chuckle goes round, when Hermione suddenly yells, "It's lunch! Harry should be back!"

Everyone jumps from their seat, except the twins, who Disapparate with a loud pop, not before shooting us grins, leaving Faith and I in the room. Standing slowly, she had an odd expression in her face.

"Is that what it's like? The death wish of a Slayer?" she asks softly, a spark in her eye that I can't quite identify.

Slightly surprised, I answer, "After everything, I thought you'd know."

Faith shakes her head, a sad air about her now as she gives a small, slightly bitter laugh, "No. Even after...no. Never death. I'm too stubborn to give in."

We're standing in front of each other now. I tilt my head up to look her in the eyes. Full of pain, guilt, but even now, innocence. It makes me realise how much death really affected me, even at 16 at the hands of the Master. My innocence was taken when I fell into that pool of water, and all these years...Angel, Dracula, even Spike...I've just been pining for it. Yearning for my peace. For that place I got ripped out of. Even at 16...I knew what I was missing. And I wanted it. Badly.

"Yeah. That's what it feels like."


	23. Scheming

The loud chanting of _'He got off, he got off, he got off...'_ reaches my ears and brings a small smile to my face, despite the somber mood that I drifted in a few moments before. I can hear Faith's blaring voice through it all, some of the Weasley kids' voices coming through now and then. As I walk down the stairs slowly and think back, it's only now I realise how different Faith really is. In Sunnydale, it was always black and white; I was the good cop, and Faith was the bad cop. She was the two-timing, 'I-get-horny-when-I-slay' fighter, where I was the 'good-girl-steady-relationship' slayer. Then everything went down hill when Hellbitch Glory decided to crash in and I found out about Dawn's Key-ness. Faith did her time, redeeming herself with Angel, and I dived to my second death. And Heaven.

_They're toying with forces beyond their power._

_They're calling you._

_I don't wanna leave._

_Go home._

_Please. Don't make me leave._

_Go home._

_I am home. _

_Is this Hell?_

_You're alive, and you're home._

_This isn't home._

I move silently across the hallway, wary of the touchy portrait, with a few tears stinging my eyes. I'd long come to the realisation that nowhere was home now. Not here, not Sunnydale, not in friends, not in Dawn, and not in death. And it leaves me wondering how I've managed to be so ignorant of Faith's innocence to death. She's managed to keep the upper hand, has never been cornered into sacrificing herself, never tasted the bitterness of mortality.

Frowning as I pause outside the kitchen door, I'm sure that she's experienced the classic death wish of a slayer. Probably while in jail, and she must've been practically dancing over the line between life and death during her coma. The exasperated voice of Mrs. Weasley breaks through my thoughts, and I realise that I've been leaning against the wall next to the door for a while now. I shake my head slightly to clear my head. I've been daydreaming more and more lately.

"'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," I manage to hear Ron say over the loud singing of the twins, Ginny and Faith, a smile on my face as the delicious smell of lunch meets me.

"Yeah, he swung it for me," Harry says, but I narrow my eyes at a distinct tone of disappointment I've often heard under Xander's voice when Willow or I were in college.

"Hey Harry," I say, settling down next to him and beaming when Ron dishes out some mashed potato on my plate, "Over Faith's version of a song and the lack of wizards trying to chuck 'ya in jail, I'm guessing your hearing went well."

He doesn't get a chance to answer before slapping his hand to his forehead and screwing his eyes up in pain.

"What's wrong?" I ask with unease, my gaze flitting between him and Ron and Hermione. Ron doesn't seem to notice anything, but his attention's on the singing Faith and kids, who have progressed to running round in circles. Hermione, however, looks as concerned as I am.

"Scar, but it's nothing," he mumbles, breathing hard but releasing his hand from his head where I can see a slightly red lightning-bolt mark, "...it happens all the time now..."

"I don't think having mind-splitting headaches counts as nothing," I counter, "maybe you should talk to Dumbledore."

He mutters something under his breath that I barely hear, though it sounds like "...if he would even look at me." This makes me frown. What's going on here? I look to Hermione, and she opens her mouth to say something but Ron cuts in.

"I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening, to celebrate with us, you know," he says, spooning some potato into his mouth. Now I start to strain to hear him over all the noise. My head's starting to throb and it won't be long before the portrait in the front hears and starts adding to the racket.

"Good, 'cause I've been wanting to talk to him for a while now," I say loudly, "he hasn't been around much, has he?"

As she sets down a huge plate of roast chicken with a highly annoyed look on her face, Mrs. Weasley says, "I don't think he'll be able to, Buffy..."

With hysterical giggles, Faith and the three redheads start to yell, "HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!"

With my head pounding now, I roar "SHUT UP!" at the same time Mrs. Weasley does. I see Harry wince slightly beside me, his hand inching up towards his scar again. Faith turns to me, face slightly red and plops down in a chair next to Sirius.

"Geez, take a pill, B," she says with a smirk, grabbing a plate and heaving potatoes and chicken on. The other three don't say anything at Mrs. Weasley's incensed look.

"Listen," Harry says, interrupting the silence, "Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry – "

"What?" Sirius says sharply, stopping from putting a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Mr. Weasley cuts in, standing next to his wife who looks at him anxiously, "Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."

"Who's luscious? And you have talking fudge?" Faith asks after swallowing a mouthful. Ron and the twins snicker.

"No, dear," Mrs. Weasley says with a strained smile, "Cornelius Fudge is Head of the Ministry of Magic. He's been opposed to any ideas that You-Know-Who's risen. We think that he's just frightened that Dumbledore wants his position at the Ministry."

"Does he wear tweed?" I ask seriously, catching Faith's eye with a grin.

"Uh, I-I suppose he does," Mrs. Weasley confusedly answers, her vibrant red hair shaking as she looks from Faith to me, "Why do you ask?"

I chew on a piece of chicken with a deliberate grin and speak in a knowing voice that I usually reserved for the stuck-up staff members at Sunnydale High, "Based on our experiences with the ex-Watcher's Council, Faith and I came up with a theory that applies to _most_ stuffy tweed-wearing British men."

Picking up, Faith continues with a snobbish tone, but her voice is tight with laughter.

"Yes. We believe that men, especially those in high positions of councils with nothing better to do than to either screw your life up, or make it as shi- crap as possible," she says, amending her words at Mrs. Weasley's stern gaze, "get their power from tweed suits that are passed down from their granddaddy's granddaddy."

"We also believe that they are actually _born_ with sticks in places where the sun don't shine," I continue, grinning as I see Faith, Sirius and the twins are overcome with laughter, "and that this is a contributing factor to their balding heads. Or it could just be when Faith and I constantly tell them to shove said sticks further - "

"I think that's quite enough," Mrs. Weasley interrupts with a glare, but her eyes are dancing with amusement. By now the whole kitchen has erupted with laughter, and Faith has a smug look on her face. Ron's starting to go a bit purple, and I think he just choked on something.

"Anyway, what was I saying before the Tweed Theory?" I ask, trying to remember.

"Lucius Malfoy," Mr. Weasley says with a grimace, the laughter dying away as we continue to eat, "We know that he's a Death Eater, but he's never been caught. And if he's mixing with the Ministry..."

"Yeah, and his son's no better," Ron mutters with a snort, "stupid blonde-haired git."

Blonde hair? Like father, like son...

"What does this luscious guy look like?" I ask distractedly to anyone.

"Pretty boy all the way," Sirius scowls, "long blonde hair, silver eyes, pointy chin..."

"That's him!" I hiss venomously, and all heads turn towards me with shock splattered all over, "The one that ambushed me on patrol. He was here when they had the attack on Harry too."

Mr. Weasley pales and hurries off, murmuring something about getting to work. Sirius swears under his breath, and I see Faith running her hand down his arm. The kids around me are quiet, Harry with a mixed look on his face. We continue to eat in silence, my mind twirling different thoughts in my head. I'd never really thought about the Death Eater attack here. But now, it's pretty bad seeing as they _know_ we're somewhere around here. The urge to talk to Dumbledore is swelling up inside.

"Hey, B, you in there?" Faith calls through the door. Rolling off the bed, I place the book on Water Demons I've been reading down and walk over to the door in my favourite sushi pajamas. Opening the door, Faith raises her eyebrows. She's dressed in a dark blue singlet and trackies.

"No insulting the yummy sushi," I say with a glare, ignoring her smirk, "What's up?"

Something flickers in her eyes and I can tell we're in for a girl chat. I step away from the door and let her in. Faith only looks around briefly before flinging herself onto my bed carelessly.

"Well?" I ask, pushing the thick book out of the way and resettling myself against the wooden panel of the headboard, pulling one leg underneath me.

"It's Sirius," she sighs, flicking her brown eyes to me and flipping onto her side, "lately he's been...I'm not sure...fake?"

Concerned, I lean towards her slightly, "Example?"

"Well, when he's around Harry, he's like this bright bubble, laughing with him and stuff. "

"And that's bad...how?"

Faith glares at me, "It's fake! He doesn't want Harry to go back to that Pig school. And lately I've been, y'know, trying to get closer, but he just keeps giving these stupid excuses and spends all his time with Buckbeak."

Ah. The automatic guy response to emotional stress.

"Faith, take it easy with him, okay?" I say, leaning back, opening my mouth to continue before she butts in.

"I am!" she moans, and is that a blush I see? She's sitting up with her legs curled underneath her, "I don't know how much more sexual tension I can take before jumping him! I've always been the one being the tease, but Sirius is just so...different."

I almost laugh at the frustration on her face. Now this _is_ different...

"Listen. Once Harry leaves, I can tell 'ya that things'll get a lot worse with Sirius. He'll be even grouchier than what you're telling me now. But if you play it right..."

Drifting off, I catch a glint of curiousity in Faith's eyes. I roll my eyes. I can't believe that I'm the one who's telling her this. Miss Queen of Sex with Anything on Two Legs. But that's in the past, I remind myself.

"What're you planning?" Faith asks with a smile.

"Well, first," I reply, a sultry plan forming in my head, "we'll need to get Hermione in on it."

Faith raises her eyebrows at this, but doesn't comment.

"Also," I add with a devious grin, "how well can you draw?"

Faith has been planning for the past few days. And now, I've also noticed Sirius' frequent disappearances upstairs. But if all goes well, my sister Slayer will have him wrapped around her finger. Walking across the second landing, I find the room where Hermione is, the kids' voices floating through, with another scraping sound.

"I feel like a house-elf!" I hear Ron grumbling inside.

"Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a big more active in SPEW!" Hermione exclaims as I enter.

"Spew?" I wrinkle my nose as they look towards me, "Why would anyone want to do anything with barf?"

Hermione rolls her eyes and continues to scrub the mouldy cupboard they've been working on, "It's not _actually_ spew. It stands for the Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare. It's to give the house-elves at Hogwarts what they deserve. I still can't believe Dumbledore would endorse such slavery."

"Anyway," I interrupt before she keeps going, "can I borrow you for a minute, Hermione?"

Her head whips up with a curious look. Harry and Ron look on inquiringly.

"Girl stuff," I say, and the two boys immediately go back to scrubbing.

I step outside and wait for her, pulling out a piece of parchment from the back pocket of my jeans. I remember how annoyed Faith was at having to use a quill and ink to draw.

"What is it?"

"Do you think you can make this before you go back to school?" I ask quickly, opening the rectangular piece and showing her. Hermione's eyes widen and I smother a grin. I just hope she doesn't tell Mrs. Weasley, or we'll _all_ be in trouble.

"O-oh...um...I've never done anything like this before," she says weakly, looking at me for confirmation on what I'm asking her to do, "I've only really done basic sewing with my wand."

"Can you try?" I insist when I see the skeptical look on her face, "I'll join that SPEW thing of yours if you make it well."

Beaming like Christmas came early, she nods eagerly, "I'll have to get Mrs. Weasley to get the material when she goes shopping for our books, though. Am I right in guessing you don't really want her to know about this?"

"Definitely no leakage to the adults. Or the boys," I add as an afterthought. If one knows, Sirius will know soon enough.

Hermione nods again, and I can tell that she'll get it done. It's a challenge, and I know she's been itching for one.

"Can I ask who it's for?"

I look at her and give a big grin. By the smirk on her face, I can tell she has quite an idea of who it's for.

"Oh, I can't say," I answer with a wink, "but it's gonna make _a_ _lot_ of people happy."


	24. Plans for the Ministry of Magic

Listening in through a small crack in the kitchen door with Faith, a frown twists my mouth as I hear Mrs. Weasley speak to Hermione, the sounds and smells of cooking wafting through distracting my stomach as it gives a soft grumble. Crouching down near me to peer through, Faith tilts her head up with a smirk that I ignore, concentrating on what the redheaded mother is saying.

"Sorry Hermione, dear," she says, the lilt in her voice indicating that she's walking around the room, "but I won't be going to Diagon Alley until the lists come in. There's not much point."

She pauses then, and Faith shifts slightly beneath me, her left shoulder brushing my leg. When Mrs. Weasley speaks next, I nervously chew my bottom lip when I hear the slightly suspicious tone in her voice. Please don't ask, please don't ask, just keep going...

"Why are you so keen on going, dear?"

Unconsciously, I'm holding my breath and can feel my chest tighten as I wait and pray that Hermione doesn't give anything away. Come on...make up something..._anything..._

"Uh, no reason, Mrs. Weasley," she finally replies with a nervous laugh, and even from here, I can hear the distinct tone of hesitancy in her voice, "You know me...always anxious to start reading the set books..."

"Well, if that's all, I'm sure you can wait a few more days, Hermione. Enjoy the break while you can. It won't be long till..."

My breath comes out in a soft whoosh, and my shoulders sag with relief. Below, Faith suddenly leans back on my legs and I have to grip the doorway to keep from tripping backwards. As Hermione continues to chat idly inside, I can still hear that edgy tone as she talks, but it's not so bad now. Hopefully she can get to that Diamond Alley and get the material without Mrs. Weasley knowing. But for now, Phase One is over.

Just as Faith starts to rise from the dusty floor, I hear a familiar third voice come from the kitchen. Finally, Dumbledore's decided to come back. In the time that we've been here, there've only been a few more patrols and Order meetings. There hasn't been any new stuff going down, so Faith and I have decided to sit out the meetings and train instead. After the big 'ol hole suck, it feels good to get back into rhythm.

I give a quick tilt of my head towards the door and Faith follows me in. When we enter, Hermione looks startled, but doesn't say anything.

"Hey Dumbledore!" I greet with a smile, throwing Hermione a pleased wink, "Got time for a little one-on-one with your favourite Slayer?"

"Hey!" Faith retorts from her place against the kitchen counter, "Ain't dead yet, y'know?"

"Got dibs in first," I smile before turning back to Dumbledore, who chuckles and motions towards the door that we just came through. As I pass her, I send a questioning glance towards Faith, offering for her to come, but she shakes her head and gives Hermione a pointed look.

"I'll catch up with ya' later," she murmurs before I step out, her focus already on the fidgeting witch at the table.

I follow Dumbledore down the corridor, the questions I need to ask him tumbling round and round, and I can't make out one sentence from another. Sighing as we enter the Order room, I watch as Dumbledore lights the lamps with a flick of a wand that I barely see from his dark blue robes.

"Have a seat, Miss Summers," he says gently, but I wait for him to take one in the middle of the table before sitting next to him.

"What is it that you wish to discuss?"

Simple question. Complicated answer. All the questions keep rolling; Harry, Voldemort, Death Eater, plans...

_If he would even look at me._

With a frown, I ask, gazing at the deep eyes behind those moon spectacles, "Why are you avoiding Harry?"

As I stare, I see the crinkles of age creep in along his forehead, eyes, mouth, even in the crevices of his nose. A shadow flits across his eyes, and for a moment, I regret even asking since it's obviously hard for him to answer. I don't know how long passes before a weary sigh escapes from him, and he really looks like a tired grandfather.

"You might be the only person in the world who has gone through more than Harry has in his life, but he does draw close to your record, Miss Summers," he says, his head slightly turned away from me, "I fear that with after the events of the Triwizard Tournament last year, Voldemort is now closer to Harry that we realise."

My brow furrows slightly. Voldemort's not closer _physically_, so he must be...

"Mentally?" I voice out loud, drawing Dumbledore's sharp attention, "Can he read Harry's thoughts?"

He seems to eye me carefully, but I can't read his expression, "Not as yet. I do not think he even realises that Harry has this connection with him. But it will not be long until he discovers the bond between them, and I fear that Harry will be manipulated into revealing his thoughts."

Thoughts. Absently gazing around the room, the connection finally settles in. Harry knows about the Order. Heck, he _lives_ with the Order. If Voldemort were to find out the exact place, especially after that Death Eater attack here...not to mention if he knows about the weaknesses of a Slayer and the one wizard he's most scared of ...

"But that doesn't explain why you're acting like he's got a disease," I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice, "He's been wanting to talk to you but you're never around long enough for him to even _see_ you."

Then the shadow that flitted swiftly across before settles heavily in his blue eyes. Turning to me, I feel my eyes widen slightly at the sadness in his gaze.

"Believe me, Miss Summers, all my actions are for Harry's benefit."

"Avoiding him doesn't help _anything_!" I cry out, knowing from experience how being away from Dawn only led to her klepto-mania and bitterness towards me, "it will only make things worse. And trust me when I say you don't want an upset hormonal teenager on your hands."

The cloud in his eyes clears slightly, but it's still there and I can see a 'resolve-face' on him.

"Fine," I grumble, "but when he gets in trouble, you're gonna get the biggest 'I-told-you-so' in history. And note I say 'when', not 'if'."

Dumbledore chuckles, the fine lines on his eyes crinkling. But he gets cut off when a knock on the door comes. Standing, he strolls towards the door, inviting the other person in. Or should I say people...Mr. Weasley's there, and Faith too. They come in, Mr. Weasley giving me a slightly drained smile before settling himself down across the table. Faith sits next to him, a little sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. Once Dumbledore's reseated, she pipes up.

"So what's the hubbub, bub?"

Mr. Weasley glances at her confusedly, but the wizened guy next to me merely smiles and says, "As you may have noticed lately, the number of patrols that we have been sending out has decreased significantly."

I nod, thoughts of Harry fluttering away to another part of my brain.

"Our attention is now focused on the Ministry of Magic..."

"Isn't that where that Caramel dude is?" Faith interrupts with a glower, "The one who thinks you're all grabby-hands for his place?"

His lips curving slightly, Dumbledore continues, "Yes, Cornelius Fudge is the Head of the Ministry. And because of his misplaced suspicions, we have been forced to use specific people, such as Mr. Weasley who works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts sector, to guard the room in the Department of Mysteries."

The words Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is still swimming around in my brain as Faith asks, "What room? And what's this department?"

This time, Mr. Weasley speaks, "The Department of Mysteries is where many strange and often dangerous wizarding items or spells are kept and studied to try and discern their purpose or value is. No one except those who work in the department know what are kept there, and they're called the Unspeakables."

"So, not with the talking," I say slowly, "then what is this thing that we're guarding that we're not supposed to know about?"

Faith looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrug lightly in response.

"In one of the rooms are rows and rows of small glass spheres. They hold recorded prophecies and are heavily guarded by the Ministry," Dumbledore says seriously, glancing between Faith and I, "only those which the prophecy relates to are allowed to hear it."

"And let me guess," I butt in, "Voldemort's all in a spunk now 'cause one of those prophecies is about him?"

Then I pause and confusion settles over me.

"But if the prophecy's about him, why can't he get it?"

"Think, B," Faith says, rolling her eyes, "how do 'ya think people would react if evil dude comes strolling in and says, 'Hey, let's have a peek at this ball thing and I'll be right out of your way.'?"

"Then send one of his stupid minions to get it – "I start, before being gently cut off by Dumbledore.

"The prophecy Voldemort desires does not directly refer to him, but its contents are of great concern," he says gravely, "it speaks of the one who may have the power to destroy him."

A thick silence falls over the four of us, and I shiver slightly at the sudden chilliness of the room. The flames on the walls don't do much for heat.

"Now when you say _may_..." Faith slowly picks up, staring at Dumbledore.

"Ah, there is where many of our complications lie," he says quietly, pointedly glancing at me, "for the prophecy details that neither can live while the other survives."

From the shocked look on Mr. Weasley's now pale face, this is the first time he's heard this. Neither can live while the other survives...neither can live while the other survives...

The prophecy must obviously refer to Harry, since he's the one Voldemort's Hell-bent on getting. A queasy feeling starts to bubble in the pit of my stomach. Voldemort, super Big Bad, charged with enough dark magic to make evil-Willow send the world to Hell and back, allied with the First, the ultimate evil. Facing off against Harry Potter, the wizard who's still in school, and who seems to have gotten by with sheer luck and ancient magic cast a decade ago. Now I know why Dumbledore's so protective of Harry, but I still don't think he should be avoiding him. I'd be mightily pissed if someone wouldn't talk to me, especially about something that so obviously concerns me.

"Geez, this seems screwed up," Faith comments softly, breaking the thick hush over us with a slightly bleak look. She must've come to the same conclusion as me.

"Hey look on the bright side," I offer with a grim smile, "there's us and the Order helping Harry. Plus he's got his own Secret Six squad. He's not totally alone."

"Miss Summers is right," Dumbledore says, his tone turning light, "Harry is not alone, and with your aid, I believe that we have a good chance of defeating this evil. And now, I ask for your help in guarding this room against Voldemort's most likely attempts to enter."

As if his cue had come, Mr. Weasley jumps in with an eager smile as he starts to explain the plan to us, "As Professor Dumbledore said, we can only rely on people within the Ministry to keep a watch on the department. But we don't have enough, especially with the odd shifts, so we need your help."

I lean back into my chair, only now realising how tense I've been as my back slouches back.

"If you will, both of you will pretend to be exchange students from America, looking for experience within the Ministry. We will acquire wands for you, so as to pass off that you really are witches. Once in the Ministry, either myself or Kingsley Shacklebolt will head your 'research' and we will alternate shifts for your watch."

The redheaded man pauses, taking deep breaths as he finishes his explanation. Sounds good, but a question twinges in my mind.

"Are you sure you can get wands for us? I'm sure they'll be able to tell if they're fake," I ask, glancing at Dumbledore.

He merely smiles, his glasses glinting from the light, and says to Faith and I, "As Slayers both of you are classified as magical creatures. Your strength, speed, healing capabilities and other factors are all a form of ancient magic that runs through your veins. A wand is merely a channel for your magic, though different it may be. Acquiring one should not pose a problem."

"How long do the shifts last?" Faith asks. I look at her inquiringly, wondering if this has anything to do with...

"Usually no more than five hours," Mr. Weasley says in a reassuring tone, but pauses when he sees Faith's troubled expression, "but you'll only be doing the later shifts or early in the morning so that we don't arouse any suspicion."

But the thought of doing a late shift only seems to deepen her frown, and I grin, knowing _why_ she's not too bubbly about having to watch a door in the middle of the night...having to leave a certain somebody'sbed...if everything goes according to plan of course. Faith catches my eye, and as she sees my knowing smile, smirks back, but it's lacking a bit of her usual attitude.

"Well, sounds good to me," I chirp in agreement, "where do I sign up?"

The two men chuckle and as they continue to speak about the details, my mind wanders back to the prophecy. With all my experience with them, it doesn't turn out well for either side. Usually blows up in the faces of those who try to avoid fulfilling it, but end up screwing themselves over instead. A la Buffy versus the Master. In the end, I died, so that wasn't of the good. But when I came back, I smashed the vamp to dust, so he didn't benefit either. And so is the miserable outcome of prophecies.

"Time to go," Faith calls, and I snap back, flicking my head towards the door, "dinner is calling my name."

"I can think of something...or should I say, _someone_ who might be calling your name too," I say with a shrewd smirk, "and don't think I forgot about that look on your face when Mr. Weasley told us about the night shifts."

Faith childishly sticks her tongue out at me and I playfully tackle her to the ground. We roll around laughing, me grabbing the T-bar on the back of her singlet, and she yanking on the waistband of my shorts, trying to give me a wedgie.

"Now _this_ is entertainment," a sly voice says, and looking up, I see Bill eyeing us with amusement.

Then another deeper voice comes in, "Yeah, just throw in some mud and I'd pay to watch this."

Releasing each other, I don't need to look at Faith to know it's Sirius. Standing and dusting myself off, I give a 'he's-yours-you-deal' look.

"Mud and girls," she merely says with a small grin, swiping her hands down her pants, "kinky. I'll remember that for future reference."

A choking sound comes out of him and I giggle. Faith has a wicked look on her face, as she saunters down past the two of them towards the kitchen.


	25. Get Mine, Get Yours

Knock, knock, knock.

"Buffy, are you awake?" a deep, muffled voice calls, "We're leaving soon."

Groaning, I flick the duvet off my warm body and reluctantly open my eyes. The room is still quite dim, thankfully, and I sleepily rub my eyes before grimacing at the horrible taste in my mouth. Then as my hands wander up to my head, I moan softly at the bird's nest that is my hair. God, this is not of good. And who the heck is at my door at this ungodly hour?

"Coming," I call back scratchily before clearing my throat. As I stumble towards the door, the cool wooden floor waking me up further, I keep one hand in my hair in a vain effort to flatten the mess.

Opening the door, I mumble a good morning to Mr. Weasley.

"Buffy, clean up quickly and have a bite to eat before we go," he says kindly, eyeing my hair with amusement.

I merely nod and stifle a yawn, turning back into the room and grabbing a few pieces of clothing before heading into the shower. Shivering at the cool tiles, I sigh as the warm stream of water hits my face, finally waking me up. The lack of patrolling has thrown my whole body out of whack, and now I feel tired in the morning if I have a late night. As I rinse my hair out, I grin thinking of the plans that Faith and I did last night.

"So, I'll distract the rest of the house," I say, stacking the pieces of paper we used to brainstorm on, "while you corner Sirius."

"_Check," Faith agrees, leaning back against her chair and shutting her eyes briefly._

"_And you know where to hide the corset?"_

"_Yup, bottom drawer that he never uses," she responds, her eyes flicking open with slight anticipation._

"_Wanna run through the song once more?" I ask with a faint grin. My body clock tells me it's about one in the morning, but already I can feel the exhaustion creeping in. _

_When Faith suggested she team her seduction act with a song, I was surprised. I never knew she could sing. Then I realised that she didn't really need to..._

"_Okay," she says, taking a deep breath. I sit back and watch._

"_Can you put your hands on my waistline, want your skin up against mine, move my hips to the baseline...let me get mine, you get yours."_

_Her voice has a sultry sort of quality to it, and as she sings, her head moves slightly to a beat she hears in her head. I can easily imagine her on stage in the Bronze. _

"_Hang a 'please don't disturb' sign, put my back into a slow grind, sending chills up and down my spine...let me get mine, you get yours."_

_When she first told me about this song, I raised an eyebrow. Literally. I didn't think she would go anywhere near Christina Aguilera, let alone know one of her songs. Then when she started to sing in that low voice of hers, I understood straight away why she wanted to do it. With her voice dipping like that, Sirius won't stand a chance._

"_Come here...don't be shy. I won't bite," she finishes with a murmur and a sly grin. _

"_Don't let your voice trail off too much," I say with a slightly tired smile, "otherwise he won't hear you."_

Faith just rolls her eyes.

Stepping out of the shower refreshed, I frown at the pieces of clothing I randomly picked up while half asleep. I yank on fresh underwear and my jeans, but shake my head at the girly pink top. Walking out with my bra on, I throw open my curtains, letting bright, warm sunlight light the room. Then I rifle through my drawers until I find a green boob tube and pin my hair back with a flowery bandana. After pulling on my worn pair of sneakers and a small bead necklace from Willow, I grab my tan leather jacket and head out.

"Hey B," Faith says at the start of the staircase, "Woke up late too, huh?"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" I ask, smiling as we walk down together.

She smirks as we continue down the dark corridor, even at this time in the morning, and says, "Hey, it all spawned from your unreleased sexual tension, B. Damn, if I didn't come up with the corset idea."

"I know," I reply with a laugh, "it's one of my better ones."

As we enter the kitchen, the delicious smell of bacon and eggs greets us, and I spot Mrs. Weasley cooking breakfast. I wonder if she ever sleeps.

"Good morning, girls!" she chirps cheerfully, handing us plates piled with food, "Just a little something before you head off."

I eye the 'little something' on my plate; at least four sausages, three strips of bacon, four slices of buttered toast and two eggs. Does she think we're half-starved? I look towards Faith, but she's already seated next to Bill and digging into the food.

"So, you ladies off to the Ministry?" Bill asks after swallowing some food. Sitting down, I chew on a small piece of toast before answering.

"Uh...I think we're going to Diamond Alley first?"

"Diagon Alley, Buffy," Mr. Weasley corrects with a sip of steaming coffee, "the market of wizards."

"And witches," Mrs. Weasley throws in from her place at the stove, with the sound of popping bacon.

"Right," I say, cutting a piece of sausage, "wands then Ministry."

The rest of breakfast passes, and soon we're standing in front of the fireplace in the kitchen. I wonder what we're using as a Portkey this time. That's until Bill steps into the fireplace, grabs a handful of dust from a dangling gold pot and says, "Gringotts Bank, Egypt!" before throwing the dust at his feet. I jump when it explodes in green flames and he disappears in a twirl of bright green. My mouth hangs open as I stare at the fireplace, now black once again.

"It's called Floo," Mr. Weasley explains, looking at both Faith and my shocked faces, "Much easier than Portkey, except for the soot on your clothes."

"You want us to go in there and set ourselves on fire?!" Faith says, disbelieving.

"No, no, dear. It's a magical fire. No burning whatsoever."

Now that the surprise has worn off, I find myself really looking forward to traveling by this freaky fire. So I step into the fireplace and clench a fistful of the dust, which starts to trickle quickly out of my hand.

"Just say, Ministry of Magic, England and throw it down," Mr. Weasley says reassuringly.

"Ministry of Magic, England," I repeat and quickly pitching the dust down.

Everything happens so quickly, and I cough violently when a cloud of dust whirls and gets in my mouth before I can close it. Then I'm spinning and spinning, and my head and stomach are getting queasy feelings. Suddenly, hard ground meets my feet and I stumble forward, barely making it into a roll, out of the fireplace that I've landed in.


	26. Wands

A/N: So this is my new chappie. I have to admit that after writing this, I got the sense that my story's been dragging. 26 chapters and the plot-bunny continues to elude me. I promise that after this, once the slayers move into the ministry, things will start lookin pretty good. Just be patient for me to get round to writing steadily again, and capturing that plot-bunny and roasting it for my evil purposes ;)

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Constructive criticism is muchly welcomed :D

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Blinking rapidly, a deep frown tugs my mouth as I warily glance at my surroundings. Dark shadows lurk and cover dusty cupboards, glass cabinets and antique pieces of furniture. An uneasy vibe creeps down my back and my body tenses, still in the crouch that I landed in. If this is the Ministry of Magic, I'd hate to see any other public place these Brits have. Slowly, I rise from the ground, dusting off the black soot that has covered my clothes like a plague and shaking out my bandana. I frown, the flowers on it now dulled from the dirt.  
  
Somehow, I don't think I'm meant to be here. Turning around, I glare at the seemingly innocent-looking fireplace from which I landed, until I notice the numerous darkly shaded jars sitting on top of the mantelpiece. I grimace at the sight of various dismembered body parts, pickling in the dirt-stained liquids.  
  
I whip my head back around, all previous feelings of dizziness gone. My eyes narrow as sharp memories of Rack's hole come filtering back in. Images of Willow and Dawn bleeding flash past. This place has way too much dark magic. I step quietly through the dust-covered floor, carefully eyeing the different items on display throughout what is obviously, a magic store. Occasional shards of light trickle through, mostly from the moldy windows that line the store. I hear voices from ahead.  
  
"Always a pleasure. Always, Mr. Malfoy," a soft voice sounds.  
  
Immediately, the name sparks a barrage of emotions: mostly anger. My fists clench, and a strong desire to charge in there and smack his blonde-haired ass all the way back to his spineless Voldie erupts in my gut. Don't be stupid, I yell in my head! Once he steps out of the shop, you'll be freaking arrested for harassment or something. I chew on my bottom lip as I stay back in the shadows, hoping that Malfoy won't decide to do more shopping.  
  
Cautiously, I peer around the musty cupboard that I'm standing behind, and a piercing gaze of grey holds mine for a second, causing me to whip back. Gasping slightly, I realise that this must be his son.  
  
_Like father, like son..._  
  
My words echo back to me in my head as I tense my body, ready to make a dash for the door if it comes to that. I briefly shut my eyes with relief as Malfoy's voice drifts back.  
  
"Come, Draco. Don't stand there gaping like a Mudblood," his dangerously sleek voice calls.  
  
After hearing the sharp taps of their boots fade away, I wait a moment longer before peeking back around. Shopkeeper gone? Check. Now to get out...The hairs on my arm prickle warningly as I feel the bent form of the owner try and creep up behind me. Slowly, I turn around.  
  
"Can I help you?" he asks with a tone that makes me scrunch my nose. Or maybe it's the smell.  
  
"No, I'm dandy!" I say with false cheer as I turn back around and head towards the door, scowling as I hear a sinister chuckle from beside me.  
  
"I couldn't interest you in a treat?" the old man asks, baring blackened teeth with a gross smirk as he pulls out a jar with some eyeballs floating in what seems to be blood. I don't bother resisting the urge to roll my eyes.  
  
"Look buddy, I'm not in the greatest of moods," I bite back with a raised eyebrow, one hand on a rust-speckled doorknob, "Your fireplace seems to have plucked me from orbit and thrown me in your store. Now I'm all for hobbies, but some of the stuff you have is just junk. Who uses blood-soaked eyeballs, anyway?"  
  
The shopkeeper just continues to stare, but instead of feeling unsettled, an itch of annoyance creeps up. I'm about to twist the doorknob when a gleam of steel catches my eye. Looking beyond the balding and discoloured head of the owner, I peer down at a deeply shadowed corner. The silver hilt of a broadsword glitters in the small beam of sunlight that has managed to seep through the grimy windows of the store.  
  
"Can I see that sword?" I say, tearing my eyes away from the weapon to ask the owner, who considers me with cool regard.  
  
"It's on reserve," he replies softly, and I know he's lying through his rotting teeth. My eyes narrow irritably.  
  
"Reserve, my ass," I say, "Show it to me."  
  
He shoots a glare my way, but I bat it away with a pointed look towards the gleaming weapon. Reluctantly, he inches towards the corner, picking the sword up with some difficulty. He manages to heave it over the counter, letting it fall with a resounding clang on the glass panel. The blade is sheathed in a worn, leather scabbard, but it's the hilt that I'm interested in.  
  
The thick silver coils in a detailed knot surrounding the dark wood of the grip. And when I pick it up to measure its weight, I notice that the metal is imprinted with a flowing script. Remember to ask someone about that, I say silently, making a mental note. Drawing off the case, the blade rings richly before I press my hand against the back of it, approving of the cold metal against my warm palm.  
  
"How much is it?"  
  
"I told you," the owner snaps, "it's on reserve."  
  
"How much is it?" I repeat with an edge in my voice.  
  
"2000 galleons," he replies curtly, the set of his shoulders clearly showing that he really did not expect me to pay for it. He's right. I'll wait for Giles to officially get access to the Council's funds, _then_ get it.  
  
Sheathing the sword, I lay it back on the glass counter, pushing my body forward slightly as I speak to him. I hide the grimace as the stench of unclean reaches my nose.  
  
"_I'm_ the reserve now. When I return, I _want_ that sword."  
  
He simply leers at me, and I tremble slightly as I resist the urge to throw a right-hook at him. Instead, I shove off the counter, hard enough to send a large crack through the glass and walk out the door without a backward glance. The muffled choke is all I need to hear from the shopkeeper.  
  
Well if this isn't the real Sesame Street, I don't know what is. Dark shadows cling to huddled figures that sidle against black walls. The place reeks of darkness and my fingers start to twitch, as if trying to draw the darkness from the stones lining a path. I'm lost. The path I'm standing on stretches in front and behind me, and branches off into more gloomy lanes.  
  
"Wass a 'lil lass doin' all by yer lonesome down here?" a sickly voice asks, placing a grubby hand on my arm.  
  
"EW! Get off me!" I yelp, slamming my arm down hard on his, just hearing the bone break before the sound is lost with the man's screams.  
  
"I second that revulsion," I hear Faith drawl from behind me, and I shoot her an appreciative look, "How'd you land yourself in this hole, B?"  
  
"Transportation hates me. Notice how I never got my driving license? It's a conspiracy, I tell 'ya," I say as I follow her through a total maze of creepy alleyways, "How'd you find me?"  
  
"Mr. Weasley panicked when you didn't show," she says, continuing her quick pace through the gloom, "So he cast this spell. Sorta Hansel 'n' Gretel style. I'm just following the trail back."  
  
It's only when we round a corner that I see the faint silver line on the ground that we've been following. But looking behind me, there's only the dirty stone pavement and no sign of a trail. Ahead, I can see the light and bustle of the busy street, and the two of us jog towards the end of the alley, where a nervous Mr. Weasley stands.  
  
"Oh thank goodness," he exclaims, untangling his hands to dust off the soot from my clothes.  
  
"I'm fine Mr. Weasley," I reassure him, retying my bandana on my head, "Just landed in some weird store. Almost bumped into my favourite Death Eater, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
By now, the red-headed man has ushered us into the busy street, and my eyes take in the intriguing surroundings. It's incredible, all these witches and wizards walking around, buying stuff out of magic stores. This has got to be the best trip I've been on!  
  
"Malfoy?" Mr. Weasley muttered, "I'm not surprised. Knockturn Alley is second home to him."  
  
Ah. Dark Arts place and Dark people blend well. I cast a sideways glance to Faith, noticing that she's been unusually quiet. Her face seems drawn, and I wonder if the darkness of that alley has taken its toll on her. I'll leave her for now, she'll probably just close up more if I ask.  
  
Now we're outside a store called _Ollivanders_. This must be the wand place. Mr. Weasley stops with a huff, his cheeks slightly flushed as he waves us in. The store seems small at first, but then I notice the endless cupboards lining the back of the shop. It's cool inside, and I cross my arms to stop a slight chill.  
  
A young boy is just finishing being served by who I assume is Ollivander. He looks like the typical bookkeeper, his old fingers trembling slightly with age, but knowing every inch of the store. The wand that the boy holds gives off a warm shower of bright green sparks, and his mother lets a relieved sigh out as she pays the man.  
  
"Ah, Dumbledore's guests," the old man says, catching the interest of the departing mother, who turns back as she closes the door, "I've been awaiting your arrival."  
  
I look to Faith, who doesn't seem impressed. Turning back, I catch Ollivander's studying gaze on me.  
  
"Hmm...yes...quite a mix, aren't you, Miss Summers," he mumbles to himself, wandering to the back of the store.  
  
Quite a mix indeed, since I end up trying at least ten wands, each feeling incredibly awkward and uncomfortable in my hands. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, since I've never used one before, but I guess it's like all other weapons. It has to have a good weight, grip, control, but most of all, make you feel like you have power.  
  
Then finally, he pulls a mouldy box out, and not saying anything, opens it to reveal a light, honey-coloured wand nestled in blood-red velvet.  
  
As my fingers move in to pick it up, I can feel the power crackle off it, and my eyes widen. This is it, this is the one. Gripping it, a huge grin lights my face as a surge of power charges up my right arm, and a beautiful arc of golden sparkles shoots out.  
  
"Ah, yes, I should have guessed right at the start," Ollivander states with a satisfied smile, "Honey-ash, ten inches with a core of dragon heartstring, a sturdy wand that will see you through many battles, Miss Summers."  
  
I nod my pleasure, letting Faith step up to him. He looks at her for a few moments before shuffling away into the back again. She flicks a look to me, and I shrug. Hey, I had to go through ten wands to find the right one.  
  
He returns with a determined look on his face. Faith seems sceptical, but picks up the wand anyway, and I'm surprised when her eyes widen in awe. Looks like the old guy scored. Her wand's much darker than mine, longer too. A misty blue stream of smoke emerges from her wand, but disappears almost as quickly.  
  
"Yew, eleven inches, core of griffin feather," he says, smiling at the delighted look on Faith, "take good care of it. It's supple, and will bend to your will, but be careful. Dark magic will break it."  
  
A shadow passes over her face, and I can tell that she's really taking his words to heart. Let's just hope that good stays on the side of good this time.


End file.
